


if you got the strength

by aliveanddrunkonsunlight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst Lite, Beaches, F/M, Modern AU, POV Brienne of Tarth, Pining, Seasons, beach feelings, brienne admiring jaime if you know what i mean, brienne being a tour guide, outdoors catalogue jaime, tarth scenery, tw: mention of alcoholism (not main characters)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26687590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliveanddrunkonsunlight/pseuds/aliveanddrunkonsunlight
Summary: Once she sees him, Brienne isn’t sure how she didn’t notice him straight away, because he looks like he crawled out of an outdoors catalogue. He’s wearing a dark maroon half-zip pullover, which brings out the gold in his hair. If her brother has a nice jawline, this man’s looks as if his was delicately sculpted by the gods, and the silver flecks in his beard only accentuate it.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 227
Kudos: 308





	1. Fall

**Author's Note:**

> It takes a village. Thanks to forbiddenfantasies, wildingoftarth, and winterkill for being great sounding boards and betas. 
> 
> This is roughly inspired by The Chicks' song, "Texas Man".

things. that should be asked  
often. in every type. of  
relationship:  
how is your heart.  
is your breath happy. here.  
do you feel free.  
\--nayyirah waheed

_**Fall** _

Brienne watches as the land looms larger and larger; the isle turns from a mass of rock into cliffs and the shoreline, then slowly grows more detailed. She can make out the slope of the road cut into a hill, a car moving up it, as if trapped in a miniature model. Drawing closer still, the boats in the harbor become clearer, and she notices individual trees and finally people’s faces standing on the docks.

The island seems bright and alive. The main route from the ferry terminal into town is lined with new businesses, equipped with colorful awnings for Tarth’s rains. The place is cheery, vastly different from the small fishing town she left a decade ago, which had a reputation as stormy as its skies. The island grew poor once the marble had been mined, poorer still when the fish dried up. Buildings were boarded up and caving in when Brienne strayed from their home, seeking her future elsewhere, and yet her brother saw hope in Tarth’s history, encouraging visitors to their home during the warmer months. A rustic escape from the rich, golden, tourist-flooded coasts of Dorne or the Westerlands. Galladon had stayed, seeing the first wave of new business to the island, and leading tours to the crumbling ruins of Evenfall Hall, the remains of the marble mines, and offering day trips to Morne. 

She visited often when Selwyn was ill, but back then, plagued with sadness and worry, she never really noticed the newness of a place she once called home. Now, she returns to this bright, shiny, bustling town she barely recognizes, her heart shattered, first by her divorce and then by her father’s death.

Her brother and his wife live close to the center of town, Galladon running his tours out of the shop in the bottom of the building. They sold the family home after their father passed, but when Brienne told her brother she was moving back to Tarth for awhile, he said, “You coulda had the house, then.” She wondered if it hurt him to sell it. He’d never told her otherwise, but Galladon always had a soft spot, a nostalgia for their youth. To her, the three bedroom cottage had never been much more than the place they’d moved after mom died. The house had seen happy memories, too, but now those were all mixed with the grief Brienne felt for her father. She wouldn’t have been able to face it. It was too big for just her, anyway, it was more suitable for a family of Galladon’s size. With her there alone, it would have felt like she was rattling around amongst ghosts. 

She will always be grateful for Galladon for those last few months with their father. It comforted her to know Selwyn had Gal close by. 

Their door is painted a bright emerald green, a pop of color standing out from the sandy stones of the facade. Brienne rings the bell and almost immediately hears the patter of feet racing down the stairs. Mari, with her strawberry blonde hair and crooked teeth grin, pulls open the door. “Brienne!” The little girl tries to loop her arms around Brienne’s hips, but isn’t anywhere close to reaching, but squeezes the best she can anyway. Mari looks back at her tow-headed brother, Caelen, who is standing at the bottom of the stairs, but hasn’t moved any closer. “He’s in a shy phase,” she replies precociously, which makes Brienne stifle a laugh. “Come here, silly,” she tells him. “It’s auntie Brienne.”

But he doesn’t move, so they cross to him, Brienne rifling his blond hair. That earns her a shy grin. “Hey, Cae.” She steps back to roll her suitcase over the threshold and hoist it up the stairs. 

“Bri!” A voice booms and she looks up, her brother towering in the doorway at the top of the stairs. “Do you need any help?” 

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” It doesn’t look like much, she knows, this one little rolling suitcase. The minute things had been over with Ron, she had moved all of her stuff into storage, and hadn’t spoken to him again, except through lawyers. For weeks, she would go up on the office’s roof for lunch, and standing there, looking out over the city, let herself cry. She stayed with Sansa and Margaery for a while, then Asha, but nothing felt normal. He’d ripped away her home, the feeling of security you got walking through the door of a place that was yours, warm and familiar. Even being in the city she once loved so much made her feel empty. 

When she reaches the top of the stairs, Galladon pulls her into an embrace, and she almost dissolves into tears because it reminds her so much of their father’s hugs. He doesn’t let go for a long time, somehow knowing she needs the physical touch, the warmth. 

They looked so similar when they were younger, both broad-faced and freckled, with big teeth and big lips, but then Galladon shifted. He grew into his features, his jaw becoming squarer, more chiseled, and everyone at school began declaring her brother was “hot,” which earned a solid rebuttal from her, even if underneath, she knew it to be true. He’d become handsome, while she remained the way she’d always been. 

“Glad you’re here,” he murmurs into her ear as he pulls away. She nods, blinking her watery eyes. 

Rosalind steps into the room, then, and Brienne puts on a smile for her favorite sister-in-law, a fondness rising up in her chest. “Hi Ros,” she says softly, as the two women embrace. “Thank you for letting me stay.” 

“Of course!” She exclaims. Rosalind is tall, but in comparison to Tarth heights, looks practically miniscule. Freckles are sprinkled across the woman’s face, a similarity Brienne has always cherished, but her brother’s wife possesses beautiful green eyes and light red hair, a striking combination. “Mari and Caelen are thrilled, and Galladon won’t admit it, but he’ll be glad to have someone help out.”

Brienne gets thrown right into the household chaos, which she oddly appreciates for its ability to keep her mind off of everything else. “I know I promised you the attic room,” Gal tells her. “But it’s a bit tight for folks like us.” He chuckles. “You can see for yourself, or I told Caelen and Mari that you might have to crash with them for a night or two. I’m sure you can imagine how terribly that went over.” 

His kids adored her and she adored them back. Brienne didn’t possess whatever nurturing instinct so many other women seemed to have, but she’d begun to understand it a little more the first time she held Mari. She’s never wanted kids of her own and thinks it’s a blessing now, considering how things turned out with Ron, but she is grateful to know such a deep love and fierce protectiveness for her niece and nephew. 

“Sleep in my room, Bri!” Mari calls from the other room, and Brienne and Gal burst into laughter in the hallway. The attic is a little tight, but cozy, and it has a gorgeous big window at one end looking out over the cobblestone street below. 

Then, she is in the kitchen helping Ros with dinner, the two of them catching up like old girlfriends, while the kids run in and out, determined to show her every new toy and art work they’ve done since the last time she was here. After the meal, Gal washes dishes and cleans the kitchen while she curls up with the kids on the couch, watching their favorite cartoon. Brienne’s happy to give Ros a little break, but is a tiny bit relieved when she passes them off to their mom for bedtime duties.

Gal appears in the doorway with two glasses of wine. “You read my mind,” she smiles, stifling a yawn. 

“They’ll run you ragged,” he warns her, nodding to the back of the house where there was just a burst of giggles from the kids.

“They’re worth it.” His broad face, so similar to her own, breaks into a smile, but he dips his chin, glancing away at the compliment. 

“Still, I hope you can find some space here. Or whatever you need.” 

“Thanks,” she replies. Other than confessing her failed marriage to him, they’ve spoken little about it. 

“I didn’t know him very well, I realized.” 

Brienne shrugs. “We have different lives. Live in different cities. It’s not your job to protect me.” 

“I’m your big brother, I don’t know how to do anything else,” he says softly, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder before he leaves to go help his wife with bedtime. 

She tucks her feet underneath the couch cushions, finishes off the glass, and wonders for the millionth time if there’s anything she could have done to change things. 

*

The next morning, Brienne trails after Galladon like they’re kids all over again. They used to wander all over the island with very little supervision, and she doesn’t remember half of the places they discovered together, but the memories she does have are some of the most pleasant from her childhood. 

She’s really impressed at how committed her brother is to the business. The last time he was telling her about it, he was relying on getting clients via word of mouth, but now he had social media accounts and a website where people could book tours, plus some very glossy looking brochures advertising Sapphire Island Tours. “Ros helped design those,” he adds with a sheepish grin. 

“It’s changed a lot, hasn’t it?” Brienne asks, flipping through one of the brochures with genuine curiosity. “I noticed yesterday as I was walking into town.” 

“Was the same when dad was sick.” 

“I know,” she replies, guilt coloring her voice. “Didn’t notice it much then, though.” 

Galladon gives her a sympathetic nod, and she notices the way his jaw tightens. It’s been hard on both of them, but perhaps tougher for him, purely because of proximity. He changes the subject, “Don’t really have enough business for this yet, but I’d love to convert a space into a hotel or hostel.”

“That’s an amazing idea!” It makes her happy hearing and seeing Galladon’s tentative plans for the future. Perhaps she’s treated him unfairly, thinking he had no drive simply because he didn’t want to leave the island like she did, but in recent years, he’s become much more focused. “Can I ask how much business you got over the summer?”

“Will you promise not to use your fancy business degree against me?” 

Her cheeks flush and she stumbles over her words, flustered. “It wasn’t fancy. You know we can’t afford that.” Brienne worked through school and was very proud of her degree, because it was the first thing she earned entirely on her own. She’d been lucky, her faculty advisor set her up with his wife as a good connection to have, and a few weeks before graduation, Catelyn offered her a job. “And I promise.” 

“July was our best month. We did two tours daily, plus a few others that were larger groups in the evenings. June was once a day, August was down a little because of the humidity.” 

Brienne was surprised at how small the numbers were in comparison to what she was expecting, but it’s a one man operation so far, she reminds herself. She nods her head, widens her eyes in what she hopes come off as approval. “That’s great.” 

“It’ll be less this season and practically non-existent in the winter, of course, but if we can get the spring and summer numbers up next year, I think we’ll have a solid foundation for building even more.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, I don’t have a tour until later this afternoon, so you don’t have to stick around here and watch me do paperwork. That gets pretty tedious. You should take a stroll around town. Lots of new shops and restaurants.” 

“Okay,” Brienne agrees, but the prospect makes her wary. There are still complicated memories of the place, and the thought of running into someone she knew or someone who knew her father, pricks her stomach with nerves. Finishing up her tea as slowly as she can without it going completely cool, she stands up, donning the light windbreaker she usually wears on the ferry over. “Shoving off for a bit,” she murmurs, even though her brother has his headphones in, so she gives him a wave, before setting off. 

*

Seagulls squawk and Brienne lingers underneath the striped awning until they pass overhead. A few people stroll by, carrying disposable coffee cups printed with a sharply designed logo. She blinks, if it weren’t for the sea air and gray cobblestones under her feet, she could be back in King’s Landing, watching urban couples and families flock to their neighborhood coffee shop for a pricey latte. Tarth’s revitalization shouldn’t bury the island’s past, its identity, under pretty paint colors and shiny new businesses designed to attract rich urbanites. 

One of the island’s minibuses goes whooshing past and Brienne heads up the street, relief flooding her chest when she rounds the corner. The second hand shop is still there. The one she stood in with her mother for hours, trying on pants, figuring out which items had enough fabric that when she inevitably grew again, her mother could let out the hems. She always dreaded the outings, taking a long bus ride from their home on the other side of the island, Brienne’s nose stuck in a book as they bounced along the road. Her mother was often sewing rips or tears in their clothing, repairing the odd button to Selwyn’s shirts. Brienne would watch her fingers, enraptured, but whenever she tried, she felt clumsy and awkward. Too big, even at nine, the needle tiny in her hands.

The year her mom passed away, Brienne wore the last pair of pants they bought at the second hand shop for as long as she could, before finally moving on to her brother’s hand me downs. 

The “sewing lessons offered” sign in the shop window feels like a wave from her mother and a smile pulls at her lips. 

Brienne’s walk takes her out of the town center and down one of the more residential streets, a sharp descent carved into the cliffs. At the end of the road, there are two houses, painted pale colors of blue and green, their backs facing the sea. The water slaps against the dark rocks, spray flying into the air. Between the houses lies a familiar path, but now there is a fence on either side, one covered with vines and flowering things, blocking the brief glimpses Brienne used to catch of the richly decorated interiors. The saltiness is heavy in the air and she takes a deep breath, the briny tang catching at the back of her tongue as she lets her shoes sink into the sand. Sometimes it feels as if every happy moment of her childhood happened on the beaches dotting the island. 

The ending of her marriage hadn’t happened suddenly, rather it was a slow trickle, intent on sucking out any joy, trust, intimacy. What had hurt her more than anything was him saying he missed her and neither of them had gone anywhere. 

It was difficult to take a step back and realize how unhappy they had been, particularly those last two years. How alone she felt, even when they were together. She’d stopped talking to the man she had chosen to be her partner--they’d chosen each other--so when Ron suggested a divorce, it was a blow to the heart, but she knew he was right. 

*

“The kids are going to miss you,” Ros confesses to Brienne one night after dinner when they’re cleaning up in the kitchen. 

“I’ll miss them, too.” It’s true. After only a few weeks, she’s settled into a routine: spending time with Gal and giving tours during the day, evenings making dinner with Rosalind, and spending weekends on the beach with Mari and Caelen. But she can’t stay with her brother’s family forever, so she found a small place of her own, close to the central part of town, but tucked far enough away that she can hear the sound of the sea. “Thank you for letting me stay.” 

“Of course,” Her sister-in-law smiles, bumping her hip against Brienne’s. “You seem happier.” 

She nods. It’s been good for her to be back here. Things are less difficult in the day to day. She’s a bit scared what it will feel like when she’s living alone again, but knowing Galladon and Rosalind are nearby is a comfort. A solace she hadn’t been able to find in King’s Landing, not even amongst her closest friends. 

“I do have a male friend. He’s single.” Ros tosses out the information quickly, but when Brienne glances over at her, she’s concentrated on scouring one of the pans, as if she hadn’t mentioned it at all. 

There is a sweetness in the offer, a hopefulness she’s surprised to feel. A sense that maybe she will be ready for someone someday. But not quite yet. 

“It’s a nice thought, but I’m not ready to date anyone yet.” She says quietly and her sister-in-law nods, not saying anymore. 

Later, when she creeps downstairs from her room to brush her teeth, she overhears Galladon talking with his wife. “We have to give her time, darling.” 

“She’s so wonderful.” 

“I know.” 

*

As the weather has cooled, the tours have slowed, leaving Brienne a bit aimless at times. Galladon has left the shop to check on an order which did not come in from the mainland on the last ferry. Just as she bites into her sandwich, the computer pings. A reminder for a tour coming up in twenty minutes. Her brother hadn’t informed her of any, so she double checks the calendar. Sure enough, someone named Jaime has booked a trip to Evenfall at two. She scarfs her sandwich down in two bites, brushes her teeth in the employee bathroom, and locks up the storefront. 

When Brienne reaches the coffee shop, she peeks inside. It’s about half full, and she recognizes nearly everyone. There’s a group of two or three she doesn’t know, but the reservation said it was for one. Her eyes finally land on a blond man sitting near the window. Once she sees him, Brienne isn’t sure how she didn’t notice him straight away, because he looks like he crawled out of an outdoors catalogue. 

He’s wearing a dark maroon half-zip pullover, which brings out the gold in his hair. If her brother has a nice jawline, this man’s looks as if his was delicately sculpted by the gods, and the silver flecks in his beard only accentuate it. His face is softly weathered and there are pleasant wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. She stands there staring for too long, and by now, other people in the shop are watching the strange woman through the window. The man glances around and then looks down at his watch. For gods’ sake, he even has nice hands. 

Finally, Brienne rounds the corner and enters, the bell jangling overhead. She waves to Siani behind the counter and then approaches the attractive man. “Mr. Lannister?” her voice sounds incredibly small. 

He looks up at her and smiles. It’s a magnetic, no-holds-barred smile, one which is charming, but has an edge of mystery to it. It tugs deep and low in her stomach. “Jaime, please.” 

“I’m Brienne. It’s nice to meet you, Mr.--er, Jaime.” She catches herself and he chuckles. He stands, reaching out to shake her hand, but all Brienne can process is: he’s tall. Not as tall as her, but nearly. “Oh,” she says belatedly, realizing he’s been waiting for her to extend her hand as well. He grips hers firmly, the warmth of his palm whispering away when he reaches into the booth for his jacket. Stepping around him towards the door, she catches a whiff of his shampoo or soap. It smells fresh, piney, but there’s another scent underneath, one which eludes her. 

“Did you want a coffee or anything before we go?” 

Brienne turns, surprised at the offer. “I usually get something at the end of a tour. A tea. But I’m not going to say no to coffee. Are you getting another one?” It feels a little awkward for a customer to pay for her drink, even though he’s obviously paying for the tour. 

“No, but I don’t mind. It’s the least I can do, you still taking me out on a gray day like today.” She glances outside, wondering if the sky has turned threatening in the few minutes she’s been in here, but it looks perfectly normal. 

“Oh, no, this is just Tarth,” she replies. 

“Oh.” His face falls and Brienne unsuccessfully tries to bite back a laugh. At least she contains it somewhat, it’s not the head thrown back, loud peals of laughter she usually suffers from. The edges of his eyes crinkle up as he smiles, then laughs along with her. He has beautiful green eyes. “Do you take sugar? Milk?” 

“Just a splash of milk. Thank you.” Brienne waits patiently by the door while he orders, trying not to let her gaze linger on his backside. 

Then he’s standing in front of her, offering her the to-go cup, her fingers brushing over his as she thanks him again. 

“Let’s go.” Brienne pushes open the door, grateful for the chill in the air, which cools the heat of her cheeks. “We have to walk through a bit of town before we get to the trail.” 

“That’s alright,” he says breezily. “It’ll be good to stretch the legs.” Brienne raises a hand in greeting to a local she recognizes. “I know the island’s population is small, but do you really know everyone here?” There’s no condescension in his tone, only wonder. 

“Not everyone, no. Actually, I haven’t lived here in about fifteen years.” Jaime is keeping pace with her easily, walking next to her. It strikes her as odd before she remembers this isn’t an usual tour, where she’s leading a small group. Even when a tour is only a couple, Brienne usually is in front, while they trail behind. It feels very intimate, to have him beside her.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I went to the mainland for school. Lived in the city, all that sort of thing.” 

“But you came back…” She can feel his gaze, but her body must visibly tighten, because he quickly changes the subject. “Never mind, I shouldn’t have--tell me some facts about Tarth.” 

She’s tossed out dozens of tidbits on previous tours without a problem, but Jaime beside her, Brienne’s mind goes blank. “Uh, we used to have the largest marble mine in Westeros. Most of the marble was gone by the time I was born, but there were still a few operational mines. When those closed down, it was the start of a recession of sorts here, but you probably don’t want to hear all this.” 

“No, I do.” His response sounds a little too enthusiastic, and she shoots him a suspicious look, suddenly wary of his coiffed hair. He’s probably some developer looking to buy up land on Tarth to turn into an expensive resort. 

“Are you here for work?” she asks, hunching her shoulders as the direction of the wind shifts, blowing directly into their faces. 

“No,” he replies, not adding any further information. 

“Oh. Family?” Brienne doesn’t want to pry, but it’s nearing the end of October, and Sapphire Isle Tours has seen business grow farther and further in between. “It’s off season, so most of the tourists are gone.”

Jaime gives her a casual, almost apologetic shrug. “I like traveling in the off-season. It gives you a better sense of the place, I think.” 

They reach the north end of town, walking up a steep incline now, and the path winds around to the left. Once they get past the next row of houses, they’ll be above the roofline of the main thoroughfare. It’s one of Brienne’s favorite views. On a rare clear day, you can see all the way across Stormbreaker’s Bay to the sprawl of Storm’s End. It’s also a good place to catch your breath, but Jaime doesn’t seem bothered by the hill at all, in fact he trundles along without her for a few steps before realizing she’s stopped and glances back. As he does so, his gaze catches the view, and Jaime slows to take it all in. The edges and lines of his face soften and his jaw goes slack. 

“Fuck me, that’s gorgeous.” The wind whips up, rifling through his hair, and even windswept, the striking lines of his face aren’t diminished. “Sorry,” he adds, cutting his eyes to her and holding her gaze for a long moment. “But it really is.” 

Her cheeks burn and she glances away towards the vista she’s seen hundreds of times. “Don’t apologize. It’s one of my favorite views.”

“Coming over on the ferry, I had a feeling I might fall in love with this place.” He continues to stare out at the middle distance, even as clouds roll into view. 

Even though Brienne ran away from Tarth for a long time, living here again, she’s found a renewed appreciation for the island’s beauty, and getting to see tourists’ blossoming appreciation for her home frequently fills her with pride and gratitude. “What made you decide to visit?”

Now that the wind has picked up, there’s more of a chill in the air, and Jaime unfurls his coat, one of the expensive outdoor brands, putting it on over his pullover. Brienne is wearing a light down coat over her long-sleeved shirt, but she wishes she had brought another layer. She’s not as used to the rapid temperature changes as she used to be. They continue walking up the hill, heading towards the ruins of Evenfall. “I needed to get away. Never been to Tarth, but I’ve always been fascinated by the history of the great houses. Tarth is one of the few left on my list.”

She can’t help but say, “But Tarth was a minor house.” 

He cocks his head, a surprised look in his eye, perhaps because she was downplaying her ancestors’ own importance. “For a time, but in the early ages, they were linked to the Targaryens and then later, married into the Lannister line. Although the Lannister reputation had declined quite a bit by then.” 

“Perhaps you should be the one leading the tour,” Brienne jokes. “So you’re saying the Tarths only became great because of their association with the Lannisters?” 

“No, not at all,” he defers. “Just that the Lannisters were not at their peak.” 

Before she started leading tours, it had been a long time since she studied any sort of history, and now she’s glad she brushed up on it. There’s a light, teasing tone in Jaime’s voice but already, she can see how passionate he is about the subject. “But the Lannisters later rose to prominence again, due to Tarth influence, some would say.”

He laughs, “You’re probably quite right.” 

The modern day path from the village twists through a glen of trees. There’s been much debate about whether it was the same path used by the former Evenstars and their families, if visitors to Tarth rode up the same path, the full impact of the castle not hitting them until they reached the top of the ridge. Brienne thinks of how the structure would have emerged out of the trees like something in a fairytale, imposing, but the walls entwined with ivy and moss. 

When they reach the edge of the ruins, the clouds shift again, shining weak sunlight down onto the grounds. There is enough of the castle remaining to give visitors an idea of its vast size, but hardly any of its height. Brienne always tries to imagine it when she visits: the crumbling gray stones rebuilt to their former glory, at least 30 feet high, arched windows which would have looked out over the island in every direction. During storms they might have been able to hear the water against the cliffs, and on clearer days, could view the sun shimmering off the sea. 

Since Jaime was knowledgeable, Brienne gave him space, not wanting to hover or recite things he already knew. Jaime circles the castle walls for a little while, then moves away to explore what would have been the grounds. She isn’t sure what to make of him. He’s shown up on her island knowing almost as much as she does about her own lineage. It feels small-minded and insular to be skeptical of him, the exact reasons she wanted to escape this island years ago. Yet remains cautious of how much to give in to his charm and good looks. 

Beyond where the home of the Evenstars sits, the ridge stretches out, trees growing in the space where the stables might have been, or the training yard. Her mother loved to garden and gave her a book on how historians thought Evenfall’s gardens might have been planned out. As a little girl, Brienne was less interested in what flowers grew where at what time of year and more drawn to the neat garden paths. She loved counting all the possible fountain locations. Brienne wonders what happened to that book, but doesn’t remember seeing it when they packed up Dad’s house or when she packed up her belongings in King’s Landing. 

When she looks up from picking her way through the overgrown flora, Jaime is watching her. “Do you want me to toss you some more facts about Evenfall?” she asks, hoping it comes across as teasing. “I want you to feel like you’re getting your money’s worth.” 

Jaime’s eyes brighten at her joke. “That depends, do you have any lost family secrets you can share?” 

“Only if I kill you afterwards. I wasn’t really prepared for a tour _and_ a sacrifice today.” Her dry sense of humor usually only shows itself after she feels comfortable with someone, and she cringes, not expecting him to get the joke. 

Jaime does a strange sort of double take, where his neck is already craning upwards to look at something, but then whips towards her, eyes wide and brows arched. “That’s mildly terrifying considering we are on the top of a cliff with no one around for miles.” The corner of his mouth pulls up into a smirk.

“Well, I don’t want you to get back home and write a review on RavenBook about how the guide made you feel unsafe.” 

“Don’t worry, I appreciate sarcasm.” He chuckles but changes the subject. “This place must be beautiful at sunset.” 

When she was a teenager, Brienne used to come up here after a bad day and watch the sun go down. A frisson of energy courses through her and she rubs her arms to chase away the goosebumps. It’s like Jaime can read her mind, as if he’s drawn out those memories she locked safely away. 

“It is.” She almost suggests staying for it, but it’s several hours away, and while it’s still sunny out, the weather is so variable that a storm could blow in quickly. “Did you have anything else you wanted to see?” 

He looks thoughtful. “Do you have a favorite spot on the island?” 

While her fondness for Tarth has grown since she’s returned, most of her childhood memories here are painful ones. A warmth runs up her spine as she remembers carrying a sticky strawberry ice cream, red staining her lips and fingers, across the white sand beaches, her mother’s voice calling after her. Of crouching over tidepools during low tide, using nets to pluck out shrimp and tiny crabs. Splashing about in the turquoise sea in the sheltered bays with Galladon until they got used to the freezing temperature. But she doesn’t tell him any of this. 

“Everywhere is good if you’re there at the right part of the day.” A soft smile crosses her lips. “But the cliffs up here are nice. Remote. The beaches, too, but you have to know where to go if you want to avoid crowds. Not that there would be crowds now.”

“Show me the cliffs then, since we’re here.” He shifts closer and there’s a nearly imperceptible touch at her elbow, which sends a jolt of electricity up her arm. She almost closes her eyes at the sensation, because it’s been so long since someone made her feel this way. It shocks her, both because she’s been telling herself she isn’t ready and because the man beside her is someone she barely knows. 

Whatever distant ancestor had chosen this as the site of the castle wanted to show the smallfolk their place, the Evenstar living high on top of a hill, the hierarchy of their small kingdom laid out below them. The townsfolk and merchants, the docks and sailors, and farther afield, the mines. Or perhaps they were as enamored with the view as Brienne was. 

She walks ahead of Jaime, the wind in her ears, striding right up to the edge of the land. The way the island is shaped, looking to the left allows you to see a long stretch of cliff face, and dark craggy rocks far below in the foaming waves of the sea. The channel between the mainland and the island is stormy and wild, the water smashing up against the granite in huge explosions of white water, and Brienne wishes she had an ounce of the water’s tenacity. It is uncontrollable and free. 

“I suppose you’re not afraid of heights then!” A shout catches her by surprise, she’s almost forgotten about Jaime. 

She turns to him, her hair whipping against her face. “Are you?” 

He’s standing several feet behind her and shoves his hands in his pockets, bracing against the wind. “A little,” he admits. 

“It’ll be alright,” she tries to assure him, even though she met him an hour ago. Brienne takes several steps inland, putting solid ground between herself and the edge. “I used to come up here and sit.” She drops to the ground, stretching her legs out before her, crossing them at the ankle. From this low vantage point, the view of the dramatic cliffs is shielded, but to the right, the Narrow Sea stretches out towards Dragonstone. There is nothing, and no one, for thousands of miles between Tarth and Essos. 

Eventually, Jaime makes his way over and sits down next to her. “I used to jump off cliffs when I was little. Not sure what happened.” He smooths his hands on the knees of his pants. 

“Really?” A sense of recognition rises within her. “Where did you grow up?”

“Near Lannisport.” 

There are plenty of Lannisters throughout Westeros, but those with the closest ties to the true Lannister lineage are said to be the ones which remain living in the former seat of Casterly Rock. She can’t help the laugh that escapes her mouth. “You really are a Lannister.”

“My father would probably debate you on that point,” he chuckles, “But yes.” 

“I’ve never been there.” 

“It’s on the sea, too, but different than here. Everything is much more green and lush here. But there were these outcroppings of rock along the coast, I used to race my cousins out to them, and then we would dare each other to jump off.” 

Brienne smiles. She can picture it, because she and Galladon used to do the same. “That sounds like my brother and I.” It’s such an odd feeling, hearing such a personal childhood memory mirrored in someone else. That’s never happened to her before. Of course friends she’s made have shared experiences, common interests, but there’s a connection she senses with Jaime which she can’t quite explain. Perhaps it’s because they barely know each and yet all the pieces he chooses to reveal about himself resonate with her. “He’s the one who runs the tours. I…” She thinks about telling him why she moved back here, but settles on, “It’s all a new thing for me.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to give you a five star review.” The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes crinkle up when he smiles. 

“Thank you,” she lets out a soft laugh. “I appreciate that.” Brienne stretches out her arms behind her, intending to lean her weight back on them, but as she’s moving them back, her hand brushes against Jaime’s, who is sitting similarly, and her cheeks flush. He doesn’t seem to notice, gaze remaining fixed towards the sky and sea. 

They sit together quietly, taking in the scenery, the occasional squawking of a gull, the whistling of the wind. It’s nice to sit beside someone and not talk, not needing to fill the silence with conversation. Jaime seems content and she doesn’t feel the need to perform, to play the gracious host, like she does on the rest of her tours.

Brienne is surprised to see how the light is slanting across the water. It’s getting late already. “I guess we should head back before it gets dark.” 

“Oh, yeah, of course.” There’s a tone of disappointment in his voice which makes her chest clench. 

On the walk back to town, Jaime asks if she has recommendations for other things he should see while he’s there. “There’s a farmer’s market on the weekends. You can’t miss it. It’s set up right down the middle of the main street.” 

When they reach the coffee shop again, they slow to a stop. “This was great,” he says. “Thanks so much for taking the time. I know I took up more than the allotted hour.” 

“Of course, I love showing people around. It was nice to meet you.” 

“You as well, Brienne.” He gives her a sharp grin, a little wave, and then walks away down the street. She stands there for a long moment, memorizing the sound of her name in his mouth. 

*

When she checks her email later, she sees he’s tipped her equal to the tour price, plus an extra five dragons. “For a coffee,” says the note. 

*

She usually goes to the farmer’s market every weekend, but this morning, she slept in, and belatedly realizes she needs several items that would be easily procured there. Brienne dresses hurriedly, slugging down coffee, before flying out the front door. There’s a text from Ros, asking if she might pick up a couple things, as she’s busy with the kids. As she walks, she texts a reply, and as she’s rounding the corner, nearly smacks headlong into a man in a navy blue sweater. Brienne startles, hand out in front of her to stop the imminent collision of their bodies. “I’m so sorry,” she says, the words already out of her mouth as she looks up from her phone, only to be confronted with a familiar pair of green eyes. “Jaime.” 

He looks as if he’s holding back a laugh. “And good morning to you too. Or afternoon.” Once again, he’s so put together, navy sweater and dark khaki pants, his hair swept back from his face, as naturally as if he’s just run a hand through it, but Brienne suspects a bit of product is at work. 

“I’m late,” she explains hastily. “I need to grab a few things before they shut things down.” 

Jaime is holding a couple bags in one hand. “It’s a great find. Luckily, someone tipped me off about it,” he tosses her a wink. 

She’s so flustered that she almost walks off without saying anything more, but after a couple steps, catches herself and turns back towards him. “How long are you in town?” 

“Leave tomorrow,” he replies. “Go ahead.” Jaime waves her towards the market. “I can wait.” 

“You don’t have to.” She can hear the bustle of the market behind her: the buzz of the vendors and customers.

“I don’t mind.” Brienne remembers the tip he’d left and is glad she’s already walking towards the hubbub of the market because her face flushes, and a nervousness spreads throughout her body, toes and fingers tingling.

After she has wound her way through the various stalls, she finds him near where she left him, resting on a bench, his bags sitting between his feet. Brienne adjusts her reusable tote on her shoulder as she approaches him. “Hey, thanks for yesterday.” Hoping he’ll understand what she means, she doesn’t specify further. 

“Oh, you’re welcome!” His smile is genuine. “Are you planning a big meal?” Jaime gestures towards her bag, nearly overflowing with fruits, vegetables, and greens. 

“I picked up a couple things for my sister-in-law, but mostly stuff for the rest of the week.” 

“It really is a great little market.” He stands, shifting his bags between his hands. “Hey, would you want to maybe have a drink with me tonight? If you don’t already have plans.” 

Her stomach flips, a signal, one she hasn’t felt in a long time. An excitement about someone. She hadn’t been ready when Ros suggested it a few weeks ago. Perhaps she should listen to that Brienne, concentrate on herself, rather than get swept away. But she remembers how nice their time together the day before had been, Jaime allowed her space to simply be. “Yes, that would be nice,” she finds herself saying, even though a million thoughts and emotions are still running through her mind. 

“Great.” His face slides from his charming grin to looking lost for a second, before giving her a sheepish grin. “Uh, I guess I should have looked up places to go beforehand.”

“We’re not known for our exciting nightlife, but there’s a couple places which are good for drinks.” She takes a breath. It’s a drink. Not a date or a proposal or a promise of anything more. “Let’s meet at the coffee shop again and go from there.” 

Jaime’s eyes soften. “That sounds perfect. Does 8 work?” 

“Yes. I’ll see you then.” Walking away, her pulse pounds in her ears.

*

Brienne stands outside of the coffee shop, wishing she’d brought her coat, crossing her arms over her chest as she waits for Jaime. She’s wearing her favorite sweater, a light blue one which Marg has told her brings out her eyes, and dark jeans. There are footsteps across the cobblestones and she looks up to see him, a dark pea coat that falls just past his hips, and dark jeans. 

“You been waiting long?” he raises his arm, pushing back his coat sleeve to check his watch on his wrist. The silver of his watch draws her eye to his large hands. 

She smiles, trying to assure him she hadn’t minded, even though her stomach was jumping with nerves, worried he wouldn’t show. “No, you’re right on time. I just tend to always be a little early.” 

His gaze falls to her crossed arms. “Are you cold?” 

“I’ll be okay once we get inside. The place is right down the street.”

“No, no, here.” Before she can object, he is pulling his arms out of the sleeves of his coat and draping it over her shoulders. 

It’s still warm and smells like him. “Thank you,” she replies, noting her voice sounds almost demure and quite unlike her. “Now, we’re not quite as cosmopolitan as Lannisport, but we do have a good, old fashioned pub.” 

He tries to adopt a shocked face. “Not even a gastropub? How galling.” Jaime presses the back of his hand to his forehead in a mock swoon. She laughs. “Actually, a pub sounds great. How greasy are the fries?” 

“Extremely greasy.” 

“Perfect,” he says with a smile. 

Once they’re tucked into a booth in the corner, Jaime studies her, his green eyes sparkling even in the dim light. It makes her whole body flush from tip to toe. “You mentioned you just started working for your brother? How long has he been running the tours?” 

She doesn’t answer his question, the thoughts she had during their trip to Evenfall resurfacing. Now it’s her turn to study him, surveying the eye crinkles and laugh lines on his face, wondering if he uses his handsomeness, his good manners as a mask. “What did you say you did in Lannisport?” she takes a sip of her cider. 

His face shifts slightly, and his throat bobs as he swallows. “I didn’t.” On the wood of the table, his fingers trace a ring left from a previous glass, probably decades ago. 

She leans forward, lowering her voice to a whisper, “Are you a developer?” 

“What?”

Brienne glances behind him at the bar, where a few older locals, judging from their handmade sweaters, are joking and laughing. She can imagine her father sitting there and her sudden urge to defend Tarth no longer mystifies her. “A real estate developer.” 

His brow furrows and his whole face hardens. “No, of course not,” his voice is gentle, but there’s a flash of irritation in his eyes. 

Brienne wants to slink away in shame. Her face burns, mortified. “Okay. Sorry,” she says slowly, glancing down at the table. His hands are pressed flat against the tabletop, his silver ring winking in the light. “I just...you seemed to know quite a bit about the island, and Tarth has become more popular with tourists.” 

“No, it’s okay.” There’s amusement in his voice and she raises her gaze to his. “I guess I’m flattered? Well, I’m not. But I am, in a weird way.” 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes again, her face still hot. “I’m very tempted to leave now.” 

He lets out a soft laugh. “Don’t do that. I need someone to share these extremely greasy fries with.” 

She takes a sip of her drink. “Fine. But I’m only staying for the fries.” 

“Understood.” Jaime grins. The awkwardness from her faux pas slowly slips away as they talk more. “I’m not a real estate developer. I worked for my father’s company for awhile, but I wanted to do something new, so I moved to King’s Landing several years ago.” 

“I lived in King’s Landing for the past fifteen years.” When she first moved to the city, her father would tell her whenever he ran into someone from King’s Landing, expecting everyone to know each other, as if millions of people didn’t live there. Yet she wonders if her path crossed with Jaime during their time there. 

His eyebrows rise, pleased with the information. “You did? What part?” 

Brienne hesitates, remembering her first apartment before she and Ron moved in together. “I was a poor college student when I moved there, but I lived near Flea Bottom for awhile. Then near Blackwater Bay. What about you?” She’d been so happy when Ron had suggested they look for a place there together. Not only because he was taking them seriously, but because she missed the water.

“Visenya’s Hill.” An impressed look crosses her face, but it all starts to make sense: the wardrobe, working for his father’s company. The Lannister name did not mean as much as it used to centuries ago, but there was still a small part of the many descendants who were still associated with wealth and astute business acumen. 

Jaime’s right hand curls around his pint glass, the silver band on his middle finger making a pleasant clink. “What kind of business did you start? When you moved?” 

“Oh.” He drops his gaze, as if he’s embarrassed to tell her. “It’s a small graphics company. Started out doing print ads, but we do a lot of commercials now. It’s growing.” 

“What company?” Her heart quickens in her chest. “I worked on ad campaigns.” 

“Leonine.” He confesses, a flush coloring his cheeks.

Brienne gasps. “You _own_ Leonine?” She’d seen that damn lion’s face logo in her dreams. “We worked on a campaign with yours a year or so ago. For Stark Limited.” 

“Really?” His face brightens, the gold flecks in his eyes standing out. “Catelyn’s business means a lot to me. Our families haven’t always gotten along.” 

Brienne let out a surprised burst of laughter at that, Jaime’s brow furrowing in confusion. When she finally catches her breath, she explains, “Catelyn is my mentor. She gave me my job.” 

“You’re kidding.” Jaime looks astounded, running a hand over his jaw, fingertips rubbing along his beard hypnotically. “How have we never met?” 

She shakes her head, as surprised as he is. “I doubt you were sitting in on client meetings. You probably have more important things to do with your time.”

“On the contrary, I knew how important that campaign was to Catelyn, so I kept an eye on all the artwork. Did you work on that project?”

“I did.” Most of the meetings for that campaign were done over the phone, and she certainly would have recognized Jaime’s name if she had known he owned Leonine.

They stare at each other in surprise for a long moment, before Jaime lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head at the strangeness of the universe. “Well, I’m glad to meet you now.” His eyebrows lift slightly and her cheeks burn, but she can’t hold back a smile.

“I confess I didn’t expect to meet the owner of Leonine on a tour of Evenfall.” 

Brienne tries to change the subject, but Jaime doesn’t break his gaze, as he says, “Only the best damn tour I ever had.” He winks at her just as their fries arrive. “You’re right,” he concedes after the waitress leaves. “These look like a heart attack waiting to happen.” 

The nervousness in her chest lessens, feeling they are on safe ground again. “The best kind.” 

Over their shared plate of fries, he quizzes her about whether they might have crossed paths elsewhere. 

University: she’d gone to Winterfell, he to Westerlands. 

Favorite hangouts in the city: she preferred coffee shops and quiet pubs, while he claimed to hardly ever leave the office or his apartment, except to watch his team at his local pub. Tarth had no sports teams, amateur or professional, but she started cheering for the Stormlands because Ron supported them. 

Friends: Jaime knew of Sansa, of course, but had never met her. When Brienne mentions Margaery, though, his face lights up again. “The Tyrells are also family...well, _friends_ would be a strong word. Of course you know Margaery.” 

“Everyone knows Margaery. Or Margaery knows everyone, I’m not sure which,” she replies snarkily, but with admiration. Marg has become one of her closest friends over the years. 

It buoys her to realize how much they have in common, even though she suspects their upbringings and the expectations placed on them by their families are vastly different, but it’s nice to have their connection confirmed in concrete ways. 

They each order a second pint, Jaime taking great pleasure in observing the Tarth locals, even as Brienne reminisces about how all the miners and fishermen were forced to leave the island to look for work elsewhere. As they finish their second round, the evening feels as if it’s coming to a close. Again, she appreciates they are able to allow for moments of quiet in between their conversation, but her new favorite feeling may be getting Jaime to laugh. She loves how his face opens up, his eyes shining, something fluttering in her chest when she hears the ripple of sound from deep within his chest. His smile shows off a slightly crooked row of bottom teeth, which she finds endearing; the slight flaw making him more human.

As they step out of the pub, the air has grown even cooler, and Jaime swirls his jacket around by the lapels onto her shoulders before she can protest, his hands skimming down her arms before dropping to his sides. He stays standing close, his proximity making her shiver. “So it’s just you?” His voice is low and quiet and Brienne feels a magnetic pull throughout her whole body, a force she cannot resist. 

“Just me,” she replies, even though her throat is tight, the pulse in her neck quickening. Her being with him is enough of a sign of her independence, but he asked for clarity, and it is a release to admit it. They are on the same page. She should tell him about her marriage, her divorce. 

“Me too.” 

“I like talking to you.” It is a simple admittance, but he has already weaved his way into her thoughts, her imagination running wild with what ifs and could bes and maybes. 

“Good. I like talking to you, too.” He gives her an encouraging little smile, then lets out an exhale. “But I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

“I know.” 

She holds her breath as he reaches out, hand brushing up her arm again, landing on her shoulder. Brienne briefly thinks how ridiculous it is that he’s touching his own coat, but then his fingers are on her chin, tipping it down slightly, and presses a kiss to her cheek. “You’re lovely, Brienne Tarth,” he whispers.


	2. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dinner, someone breaks out a guitar and a few people start singing the traditional ballads of the island. Jaime is enraptured, his jaw slack, the silver in his beard and sideburns winking in the sun. A pleasant sensation unfurls in her stomach, a peace settling over her. It’s not only Tarth and the festivities that are making her feel that way, but the man sitting across from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Mention of alcoholism
> 
> Thank you so much to my beta winterkill! And special thanks to forbiddenfantasies for her cheerleading and endless support.

_We will walk hand in hand_  
 _And find the unsaid words to understand_  
 _And though I'll miss you, well, I know_  
 _It's never goodbye when you go_  
-Lissie, “Together or Apart”

_**Winter to Spring** _

A bitter wind blows across the beach, signaling winter’s arrival, and Brienne shivers inside her coat. Later that day, she watches as a ferry is tossed amongst the waves, as if it weighs nothing, and with it, her hope that Jaime will return to Tarth is smashed against the rocks. 

It was a silly idea to cling to and a dangerous one. It has been a long time since she has been here, the nascent potential of something romantic, but she has not forgotten how her mind likes to construct this emotional scaffolding. The evening they spent together in the pub frequently replays in her mind, and she imagines them there another time, and another, until it becomes their place, and Jaime reaches for her hand under the table. Taking her morning walks, her mind winding down new avenues as her shoes sink into the sand, the heat of embarrassment prickling along the back of her neck as she catches herself. _You don’t know him. None of it is real._

*

After her third date with Ellis, who walked her home and kissed her softly, his eyes searching for the promise of more, she knew she couldn’t see him anymore. This last meal, she sat across from him, realizing he did not see her. It made her feel utterly, devastatingly lonely. It was all an act. She was going through the motions of getting to know someone, when in reality, she desired none of it. Felt nothing when his hand slid into hers. 

Brienne does not want him to know her, because there is already someone who does. 

A someone who she has not heard from in months. Jaime sent her a text a week after he left, saying he was returning to Lannisport to deal with some family stuff. After not hearing from him for another two weeks, Brienne sent a text checking in. He didn’t respond until months later, as Sevenmas was drawing near, wishing her happy holidays and inquiring about the weather on Tarth at this time of year.   
  
And yet it is him--or the idea of him--whom she thinks about at odd times in the day: when she’s in the middle of cooking dinner or wrangling her niece and nephew or popping into a shop. His smile or the warmth of his laugh or the way he looked so comfortable on the island. There are many nights where she dreams of him, her heart happy, the weight of reality sinking in when she wakes. When she was younger, she might have done something as foolish as traveling to King’s Landing to try to find him, but she stopped chasing things a long time ago. 

Her soft footfalls sweep across the hardwood floors as she walks into the kitchen to make herself tea, holding the warm mug close to her heart. 

_**Spring** _

The weather slowly gets warmer. It is as volatile as she remembers it, the sky black and booming with thunder one day, blue and cloudless the next. The tourists begin to trickle back to the island. Brienne easily spots them in their colorful windbreakers and inappropriate footwear. She jokes to her brother they should start selling rain boots for their tours. 

Business picks up rapidly, and she’s giving multiple tours a day, returning home exhausted. It’s still too early for dive trips, the water too cold, but once Galladon starts taking the boat out, there’s no way she will be able to handle the load on her own. One morning she comes into the office to find a young man with dark hair speaking to her brother. 

“Brienne,” Gal looks up with a grin. “Podrick’s going to help out this summer.” 

The teenager spends the next couple weeks shadowing her. At first Brienne finds him underfoot more often than not, but the first time he pipes up with a fact she wasn’t certain about, they begin to forge a quiet friendship. She watches with pride as Pod takes on his first tour, greeting the small group and asking what brought them to Tarth. He sounds like a local. 

*

The sky is streaked a bright blue, sun warming her skin as she walks to the local dive shop. Galladon intends to take out the boat tomorrow, so Brienne has agreed to swing by and restock some of their supplies. She waves to Davyn, the owner, who is behind the counter, negotiating with someone wanting to rent a full dive kit. 

“You should look up Sapphire Isle Tours.” Brienne hears him say. “They take out small groups. It’s quite dangerous if you go on your own.” She smiles to herself as the bell over the door jingles, welcoming another customer. “I’ll be a minute,” Davyn calls. 

Her hand is curling around a snorkel when she hears a voice behind her. “You know I took another Sapphire Isle tour and was _very_ disappointed with the level of the tour guide.”

She straightens and spins on her heel. Green eyes twinkling at her. “Jaime.” His name escapes her mouth in a gasp, and the corners of his mouth twitch up into a cautious smile. She should be furious with him, but she can’t deny that her heart skipped a beat when she saw his eyes. Brienne swallows and decides to play along. “I’ll certainly report it to the management, sir. Who was your guide?”

He tries to match her business-like manner, his brow furrowing. “A young man named Pod.” 

Jaime can’t mask the delight in his eyes, however, and Brienne chin quivers as she tries to hold back laughter. Instead, she makes a _harumph_ in her throat. “And what were your complaints?”

“He was a perfectly knowledgeable and friendly guide, but he wasn’t a Tarth descendant.” Slowly, his face breaks into a full-fledged grin. His smile is dizzying, a ray of sunlight after a long winter.   
  
And yet, Brienne feels a tug in her chest, a remembrance of all those months without a word from him. A sharp retort nearly slips past her lips, but instead, a rush of breath leaves her as she murmurs, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

He glances down, a gesture she recognizes, one which she does whenever she feels uncomfortable or embarrassed by something. She’s said the wrong thing and a sense of mortification uncurls in her chest, her face coloring, desperately wishing she could duck out the door and run away. When Jaime glances up at her again, there’s a shy, boyish look to his features, and she marvels at how a single expression can change him from a handsomely aging man to a nervous, but hopeful young one. 

“Do you want to grab a coffee?” 

As they walk to the coffee shop, they’re both quiet. Brienne waited six months for this man to appear, imagining what she would say, what he might do when he did, but now, faced with him beside her after all this time, she doesn’t know how to react. Margaery would tell her she’s too nice, allowing him a second chance. 

Jaime looks uncomfortable when they sit down with their drinks. His face is drawn, his lips pressed together in a flat line, eyes cast downwards on his cup, where he picks at the plastic lid. He draws himself forward in the booth, his jaw working, before he finally speaks. “I disappeared, and I’m sorry.” 

“You could have at least texted.” Her voice has an edge to it, and Jaime reacts as if she landed a blow on him, his body reeling back slightly, but he nods and ducks his chin. When he looks back up at her, his eyes are tinged with sadness.

“You’re right, but I hope you’ll let me explain.” Brienne considers it, then slowly nods, guarded but willing to listen. He takes a sip of his coffee and continues. “I had to go back to Lannisport to deal with some family issues. My family is…” he trails off. “A lot. I wanted to be there for my niece and nephews. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” 

She doesn’t want to pry, but she understands, in some small way. Brienne would do anything for her niece and nephew. “One of the reasons I came back here...well, my dad was sick for a long time. And ultimately, I decided I wanted to be closer to family.” It skims over large gaps of the story, but hopes it will be enough to encourage him to open up to her. “You don’t have to apologize for trying to help your family.”

He arches an eyebrow at her; it morphs his face, for a moment making him look like a cartoon villain and she almost laughs. “Nope, pretty sure I still owe you an apology despite the antics of my family.” Jaime deflates, rubbing a hand over his beard. She can’t help but feel for him, even though she’s still hesitant to trust him fully. “So once again, I’m sorry. I hope you’ll consider forgiving me.” 

_Depends on whether you plan on disappearing again_ , she thinks, but instead says, “There’s a common thinking here that you shouldn’t carry worries around with you. You let things wash away with the tide.” 

“I like that philosophy.” He gives her a tentative smile, and her cheeks flush as she gives him one in return.

When they part, Jaime asks if he can give her a hug. She accepts and he curls an arm around her shoulders and briefly pulls her into his side. Still, it’s enough that Brienne catches the scent of him and longs to pull him closer and sink into his arms. 

*

The next morning, she and Rosalind walk to the market together, only to spot Jaime as soon as they arrive. Her pause makes Ros take notice, even though she has not dared to mention Jaime to her or her brother. “What is it?” 

“Nothing,” Brienne replies, but she cannot draw her gaze away from him. He’s talking to one of the vendors like they’re old friends, his ability to be at ease in a space she considers to be her own makes her even more drawn to him.

Brienne can feel Rosalind’s eyes on her as she approaches him, and Jaime’s face opens up when he sees her, his eyes sparkling like twin emeralds, and his body shifts towards her. Same as the day before, he draws an arm around her, his shoulder pressing into hers in a quick hug. “I should have never told you about this place,” she jokes. “Now you’re stealing all the good produce.” 

He holds up a hand in mock surrender, the other one holding a cloth reusable bag. “You caught me. Although I do try and leave the best produce for the Tarth locals,” he replies teasingly. 

“How long are you here for this time?” Seeing him again has given her perspective on all those months pining for him, and although Brienne cannot deny there is a connection between them, it’s clear Jaime has a life, other responsibilities. Maybe if she ever moves back to King’s Landing, they might have time to get to know one another. 

“A little while,” he says vaguely. “I’ll have to go back to Lannisport soon.” Jaime narrows his eyes at her, curious. “Why?”

“In case you wanted your money back on that tour.” 

He lets out a laugh, but shakes his head. “Pod’s a good lad, but he’s not you.” 

Even though she is taken aback by his boldness, she finds her eyes glancing at his mouth. “I think that was a compliment?” Brienne doesn’t know how else to navigate that, other than turning it into a joke. 

“Yes,” he chuckles. “It was.” When she gets the courage to look up at him again, his eyebrows are raised, his eyes searching his face. 

“There’s a town thing tomorrow. A festival, well, sort of. More like a celebration,” she tells him. “Do you want to come?” 

“Am I allowed, not being a local?” 

There’s a teasing tone to his voice and it has its intended effect, drawing a smile from her. “You have an in this time.” 

He beams in response, his green eyes twinkling in the afternoon light. “That sounds great. Meet you at the coffee shop?” 

She laughs. He does sound like a local now. “Yes, that’s perfect.” 

As Brienne heads back over to Rosalind, her sister-in-law is watching her with wide eyes, only half pretending to be selecting apples. “Who _is_ that?” she asks as Brienne draws up beside her. 

“His name is Jaime.” 

“You have to tell me _everything_.” But Jaime’s reappearance, whatever is happening between them is too tenuous to say much. 

*

When she meets him at the coffee shop the next day, there’s a festive air about town, most of the shops closing early for the celebration. The tourists wander from storefront to storefront, reading the signs posted to the windows with an air of confusion and frustration. Brienne almost wants to laugh, but then Jaime appears at the bend in the road, and the way he looks, the afternoon sun slanting behind him, reflecting off the golden in his hair, makes any other thought vanish. He raises his hand towards her and his strides quicken across the cobblestones. When he arrives in front of her, the full force of his smile is turned towards her, and for a moment, he is the sun. She steps into him, as if they have done this a million times before, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders, murmuring a hello into her ear, the low tenor of which vibrates through her stomach and all the way down to her toes, basking in the pleasant warmth of being wrapped in his arms and his voice. 

His outfit is slightly out of place for a relaxed beach picnic, dark khakis and a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He’s carrying the same cloth bag he had at the market and what looks like a blue sweater is peeking out of it. 

“You ready?” she asks and he nods. As they walk past the tourists, towards the beach, his hand brushes against hers. Brienne thinks nothing of it, but a moment later, it happens again, only this time it feels purposeful. 

“May I?” His face is open, innocent, and she remembers that boyish charm despite the distinguished silver in his beard. Brienne nods, trying not to let the surprise show on her face, and he reaches for his hand. 

His hands are slightly weathered, much like his face. His palms are smooth, with a few calluses, and she wonders what he uses them for before her brain wanders off in a direction it should not. They make an odd pairing, her pale, freckled skin against his golden hue. He brushes his thumb over hers softly as they walk and Brienne can’t look at him, distracted as she is by the waves of heat radiating across her skin.

Nervousness pricks at her as they draw closer to the beach, realizing Galladon and Rosalind will give her endless questioning looks when she shows up hand in hand with this man. The scent of sea air is heavy and arriving at the edge of the sand, there are already many residents under large tents to keep the sun at bay, talking and laughing together. A few people brought small grills and the smell of charcoal and sausages wafts through the air. She spots her brother by one of them, Rosalind sitting nearby, talking to several other women, while the kids run up and down the beach together. 

They drop hands as they walk across the sand, Jaime laughing when he struggles to move across the beach easily, stopping to unlace his shoes and slipping off his socks. Galladon looks up as they approach, shooting Brienne a surprised smirk as she introduces Jaime. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” he brother says jovially when Jaime reaches out to shake his hand, but Gal pulls him for a quick hug, slapping his shoulder in a manly greeting, like he can measure Jaime’s worth through a simple gesture. 

Brienne watches her brother closely as Jaime compliments him on the tour company. They chat for a few minutes, and in a short time, he and Jaime are speaking like old friends, Galladon’s reservations falling away. He was always the more social of the two of them. Rosalind approaches from behind, pointing and smiling at Jaime. Brienne has to stifle her laugh, but her cheeks flush, and she puts a hand on his arm. “Jaime, this is my sister-in-law Rosalind.” And then the kids are there, wanting to be introduced, and she can only stand by and watch as he gets swallowed up by her family. She feels a little guilty for not warning him, but then the kids are leading him off down the beach, and she can feel Galladon and Rosalind exchange approving, knowing gazes. “Stop,” she tells them. Ros laughs lightly and Brienne flushes before following after Jaime, Mari, and Caelen. 

As they near the water, he pauses and bends over to roll up the legs of his pants, and she is caught, unable to tear her gaze away from the taut outline of his thighs through the fabric, stretching up to meet the curve of his backside. Brienne imagines slipping her hand into his back pocket as they walk along the beach side by side. 

Mari and Caelen urge him to hurry, the kids shrieking at the feeling of the cold, damp sand on their feet, but not letting it deter them from whatever they are after. Playfully, Jaime acts as if he’s stuck in the sand, the kids having to come over and drag him forward, both of them giggling. 

“Look, look!” Mari exclaims, pointing at the ground. Brienne cannot see whatever it might be: a pretty shell, a bit of seaweed, a small pool or eddy from the tide. They hunch over in quiet contemplation, quite the trio. 

He has a natural ability with them, and she recalls Jaime mentioning his own niece and nephews. Jaime has met her entire family, and she barely knows anything about his. He glances up, spotting her, and smiling over the kids’ heads. Mari and Caelen take off down the beach, but his gaze remains fixed on hers, and he doesn’t even realize they’re gone until they call for him. Then he gives her a small shrug, another beaming smile, before jogging across the sand towards the kids. 

This time, she wanders over to join them. “What are we looking for?” 

Caelen is prancing around on his tiptoes. “Snail!” he declares. 

“It’s not a snail, Caelen,” Mari replies in an adult tone. Brienne glances over at Jaime and sees him stifling a laugh. “It’s a clam and they shoot up--” She screeches, pointing, and sure enough, there is a small hole which has appeared in the sand and a small bit of water shoots out, hitting Caelen right in the chest. He shrieks and falls down onto his bottom. 

Brienne nearly dissolves into laughter, but instead manages to ask if he’s okay. He’s on the verge of tears, lip stuck out in a pout, and shakes his head. “Cold.” 

Jaime speaks up behind her, “Hey Cae, do you know what a fireman’s carry is?” Again, the boy shakes his head. “Can I pick you up?” 

“Sure.” He lifts Caelen easily off of the wet sand and throws him over his shoulder. The boy shrieks and giggles. 

“Fireman’s carry means you have to keep your legs straight out. Like a board.” Her nephew does what he says. 

“You ready?” The boy nods eagerly, but doesn’t audibly reply. “You ready?” Jaime asks again. 

Brienne chuckles and his green eyes twinkle at her, as he tosses her a wink. “He’s nodding.” 

“Okay, here we go.” Jaime takes off in a jog across the sand, delivering Caelen back to Ros and Galladon. 

“Come on, Mari.” She stretches a hand out to her niece, who was undeterred by her brother’s collapse and is still examining the sand for a sign of more clams. “Let’s go eat.”

They cross the beach to where Rosalind is changing Caelen into dry clothes while Galladon and Jaime chat by the grill. 

After dinner, someone breaks out a guitar and a few people start singing the traditional ballads of the island. Jaime is enraptured, his jaw slack, the silver in his beard and sideburns winking in the sun. A pleasant sensation unfurls in her stomach, a peace settling over her. It’s not only Tarth and the festivities that are making her feel that way, but the man sitting across from her. 

The songs turn from those of battle to those of romance and when they begin playing one she remembers her mother singing, an unexpected sadness burrows into her belly. She stands, ignoring Jaime’s questioning look as she brushes past him and walks towards the shore. The wind has picked up and she crosses her arms over her chest as she stares out at the water. 

A moment later, there’s a warm hand on her back, and his gentle voice in her ear. “Hey, you okay?” 

She bites her lip, willing her voice not to tremble when she tells him. “That song reminds me of my mother.”

“Oh,” his voice dips low, the tenor of it making her shiver. “I’m sorry. My mother died when I was young, too.” 

Brienne glances over at him, surprised. He gives her a sad nod. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “How old were you?” 

“Nine. How old were you?” 

“Twelve.” He steps closer, sliding his arm around her shoulders, and she allows herself to rest against his side, the heat of their bodies mixing together making her nearly vibrate with want. He’s put on his sweater, the fabric weathered and soft. “Walk with me?” She can feel the eyes of everyone on them and selfishly, wants him for herself for a little while longer. There’s an outcropping of rocks along the shoreline up ahead and once they cross it, they’ll be hidden from view. The sun is starting to set, glittering across the water, casting the whole beach in a golden hue. 

“I did some research on the Tarth lineage.” He tells her, his fingers tangling with hers as they pass the rocks. 

A laugh bubbles up in her throat. “You did? You would be more informed as a tour guide than me. Did you find anything interesting?” 

“There _was_ a Lannister-Tarth marriage. Or believed to be. Many people assumed she never married, that she was yoked to her duty first as a soldier, then as Evenstar.” 

Brienne’s heartstrings are plucked by his words. She’s always identified with the mysterious figure, the Blue Knight. She felt the same way as a child, but has forgotten. “Sounds not so different from now. Women can’t possibly have a career and a successful relationship.” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, the realization strikes her. She’s lost both. Technically, Cat gave her personal leave and told her she could return any time she wanted, but she’s been back on Tarth for more than half the year. 

Jaime is saying something about how he thinks they married for love rather than obligation, but she can’t concentrate on his words, the sense of failure swirling around her, making her dizzy. Only one thing penetrates the fog. “I’ve thought about you a lot.” 

She stops walking and stares at him, her pulse pounding so quickly, the skin at her wrist jumps. “I thought about you, too.” Her voice is a whisper and Jaime pulls her into him. They hold each other for a long time, arms wrapped tightly around one another. If they let go, they might crumble, or fall headlong into the water’s waves, torn out to sea. 

Brienne forces herself to breathe out the guilt and feelings of failure she was drowning in a moment ago, instead choosing to breathe in Jaime. The pleasant scent of pine, the safety of his arms, the comfort of his body pressed against hers. He starts to draw back, but she only holds him tighter, and he chuckles. 

“Come here,” he murmurs, the gold flecks in his eyes sparkling in the sun, his fingertips fluttering across her cheek. The way he’s looking at her makes her stomach flip, even as her body relaxes when his lips brush across hers, tentative at first, then returning, warm and soft and sure. His beard prickles against her cheek, making her sigh softly. Her hand curls around his shoulder as she returns the kiss, a delicate balance of shyness and the overwhelming desire of wanting _more_ —to press into him urgently, needy, and unrestrained. 

When they break apart, it is those eyes which she takes in first: kind and gentle. There is a tentative happiness, a hopefulness, and she finds herself smiling in return, a soft laugh on her lips. He draws her into him again, strong arms wrapped around her, as he presses his nose into her neck, and then drops kisses there, the soft scrape of his beard making her gasp, which elicits a low hum in his throat. “Jaime,” she murmurs because she will not be able to control herself if he sounds like _that_ during. 

He chuckles and raises his head, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “I’m sorry I disappeared for so long. I want to get to know you, Brienne Tarth.” 

Her stomach tightens, but she lets out a soft, relieved laugh. “I want to get to know you, too.” They walk hand in hand further down the beach, the water lapping at the shore. “I’m sorry I threw you into meeting my family. I confess I didn’t think about that aspect when I invited you.” 

“I didn’t mind. Your niece is hilarious.” His face cracks into a smile. 

“You were good with them.” 

“Thanks.” He lets out a sigh. “I love spending time with my sister’s kids. She-” There’s a strain in his voice and when she said she wanted to know him, she meant it. The good and the bad. 

“Jaime,” she says softly. “You can tell me.” So he does. He tells her about how his sister is an alcoholic, about how she has spent years in and out of rehab and mental health facilities for addiction, how Jaime and his younger brother wanted some stability for her kids, rather than seeing their mother come in and out of rehab, so the kids moved in with his brother. “I would have taken them if I could have, but we didn’t think it was a good idea for them to move and I was already settled in King’s Landing.” 

“They’re lucky they have you.” She doesn’t mean his niece and nephews, although she has no doubt that’s true, but his whole family. 

It feels as if they’ve walked halfway around the island, their fingers still intertwined. The sun is close to sinking below the horizon. Cliffs rise in the distance, and beyond them, Brienne knows, Tarth’s mountains. 

“I certainly didn’t expect I would be the secure, stable one everyone relies on.” She glances over at him, his gaze focused on the sand, the front of his hair tousled by the wind in a way which makes her smile. 

Brienne always thought of herself that way, but her brother may have surpassed her several years ago when he and Rosalind had Mari. “That sounds like a lot of responsibility.” 

“I don’t mind.” But there’s a crack in his voice and she stops, looping her arms around his middle and holding him close, her face buried in his shoulder. His hands smooth up and down her back and across her shoulder blades and when she steps back, his hand comes up to cup her cheek, drawing her close so he can kiss her again, brushing strands of her hair away from her face as the wind picks up. His lips on hers whispering an understanding which has passed between them and a heat promising something more. 

“You have to go back soon.” It’s not a question, because Brienne knows he does. 

He nods. “I like it here, though.” 

She steps back and without thinking, reaches up to attempt to tame his hair, but pauses in mid-air and asks, “Is this okay?” Jaime nods, a soft smile on his lips. Brienne runs her fingers through his hair. It’s soft to the touch, not dry or brittle from product, and a giggle escapes her when his hair simply won’t stay in place. 

Her eyes connect with his, but instead of the soft, warm pleasantness she’s been feeling all evening, a swirl of guilt rises up in her stomach. It must be evident on her face, because Jaime furrows his brow. “Are you alright?” 

She’s been hiding part of herself from him, embarrassed of the truth, because she’s suffered failure. “When I said I came back to Tarth to be closer to my family, that was only half true.” Her marriage had ended, in part, it felt, because some part of her was not strong enough to hold it together. She ducks her head. “I’m divorced.” 

“Oh, Brienne,” he breathes. Jaime steps into her like she had with him a moment earlier, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her close, as if that might rid her of the hurt, the sadness. Gradually she allows herself to relax into him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. “Do you want to talk about it? You don’t have to.” 

She shakes her head, knowing if she tried, she would likely to dissolve into tears. “I will, but...not now.”

“It’s okay,” he soothes. The wind blows, a harsher gale than before, and she shivers in his arms. “Are you cold? Do you want my sweater?” She shakes her head again. “Do you want to head back?” 

Brienne nods and he moves behind her, insisting she walk ahead of him so he can block the wind. She laughs and grabs his hand instead, pulling him beside her. He drapes an arm loosely around her shoulders, their hips bumping occasionally as they walk. She hooks her fingers through the belt loops of his pants. Instead of circling back along the waterfront, she directs them north, towards a smattering of craggy rocks, a secret path nearby which leads them from sandy dunes back to the gray cobblestones of the town’s roads. Their footfalls echo softly through town as they cross the main thoroughfare, the lamps gleaming in the evening light, until they reach Brienne’s apartment on the other side of town. They stand closely together in the doorway. 

“When do you go back to Lannisport?” He shoots her a mysterious, secretive smile.

“I was thinking about extending my trip a few days. But only if you want me here.” 

“I do.” Brienne draws closer, her hands falling to his shoulders, and she can feel Jaime take in a deep breath at her touch. “We should go to Morne.”

His hands land at her hips, a grin slicing across his face as he raises his eyebrows. “How did you know I wanted to go there?” 

“Must be my tour guide instinct.” She teases, widening her eyes, before she kisses him. Her hand runs across the muscles of his shoulder, fingertips curling at the nape of his neck. One of Jaime’s hands rests at the small of her lower back, his touch gently pressing her closer, as his tongue darts out to drag across her lip, before his mouth captures hers again, catching her by surprise. They end up falling back against the door, but Jaime reacts quickly to cushion her blow and they laugh in each other’s ears. 

“Meet me for breakfast tomorrow? We’ll talk about it then.” 

“Yes. I’ll see you in the morning.” Jaime watches her unlock the door. When she glances back to look at him, there is a longing in his gaze, and she nearly asks him to come up. Instead, in the doorway, he brushes back her hair to press a kiss to her forehead, then his mouth steals another kiss from her and then another, Brienne standing stunned after he leaves, the taste of him lingering on her lips. 

*

She thinks of him when she wakes, remembering the way he held her, the low dip of his voice, as she makes coffee and gets dressed. As Brienne approaches the coffee shop, their meeting place, she can see he’s wearing a fuzzy dark gray fleece and it makes her want to curl up somewhere with him. Drawing nearer, his face doesn’t break into a smile like it normally would, even when it’s clear he’s spotted her. His eyes are dull and she shoves her hands into her pockets, chilly and worried. 

“I have to go back to Lannisport,” he sighs. 

Brienne isn’t sure what to say, but he looks so sorrowful, she wants to comfort him in some way. She slips a hand out of her pocket and reaches for him, her hand sliding down his upper arm, the soft fabric of his fleece against her skin. “I understand.” And she does. 

“I really am sorry.” There’s pain in his face and a longing swells up in her chest. She doesn’t know when she’ll see him again. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Jaime,” she says softly. 

But he shakes his head, jaw clenching and releasing for a moment before he’s able to speak. “I want to be ready, but I don’t think I am.” 

His words are an icy cold wave washing over her, happening again and again until she is soaked, chilled to the bone. It was foolish for them to think this might work. She knew that. But the guilt, the sense of failure rises up in her again, even as she puts on a brave face. “I understand.” If she were the Brienne from before, younger and uncertain and eager for someone to love her, she might offer to go with him to Lannisport, but she knows she cannot be that for him. It’s not what he needs anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs and she steps into him then, wrapping her arms around him, hoping he will know her heart. 

Finally, he whispers in her ear that he has to go. She draws back, giving him a slow, sad smile. Reaching up, her fingertips trace along his jawline, the bristles of his beard tickling her skin. “You’re lovely, Jaime Lannister.” He gives her one last, long hug and then he’s gone. 


	3. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sleet tinkles against the attic skylight and the wind howls all night, but she sleeps heavily, her body more wrung out than she realized. In the morning, the sun slices brightly through the skylight. The cobblestone street glitters with ice, but the sun is bright, and the sky is a cloudless, clear blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to winterkill for her fierce beta skills and forbiddenfantasies for making me laugh and listening to me flail.

_If you got the strength I do_  
_Then sign me up_  
_If I'm not too much for you_  
_Then sign me up_  
-The Chicks, “Texas Man”

**Winter**

Even through thick gloves, her hands are shaking, and she can barely hold the hammer. The heater Galladon set up in the building is hardly enough, not when there is only thin plastic sheeting covering some of the walls, and the wind is howling. 

There’s an ice storm predicted for tonight, unusual weather for Tarth, but nothing has been usual about the last eight months of Brienne’s life since Jaime left. 

The house has kept her busy. Sapphire Isle Tours made enough income from their summer business to invest in a property, the future site of a hotel to serve their clientele: both the older couples and backpackers alike. She and Gal are fixing it up themselves, although eventually they will need the help of plumbers and electricians. Gal gave up hours ago, telling her not to stay too long or she’d freeze to death. Brienne shoves her gloved hands inside her coat pockets as she steps outside the building, barely able to grip her phone and pull it out of her pocket, a text from Rosalind illuminating her face. _Made too much stew. Come get some when you’re done x Ros._

An eerie silence has fallen over the town. The wind has stopped howling. The only sound is the echoes of her footfalls off the buildings as she walks. The calm before the storm. 

By the time she reaches Rosalind and Galladon’s, she’s shivering from the cold and wraps herself into a blanket in their living room, eating a bowl of stew as the kids tell her about their day. 

“I think Gal is working you too hard,” Ros says to her in the kitchen later. Just then Mari lets out a shrill shriek from the other room and Rosalind rolls her eyes. “Or maybe we are tiring you out.” 

She doesn’t mind the hard work they are putting into the hotel. Before Galladon bought the new space, he asked her opinion, and it felt like a challenge, a way to judge if she was planning to stay. As much as she thought her return to Tarth would dredge up memories of her youth or grief at the loss of her parents, instead she has embraced the island as her home, perhaps for the first time in her life. When she arrived on the ferry, Brienne certainly didn’t expect to catch her mother’s quiet strength in her niece or glimpses of her father in Galladon. The time she spends with Galladon, Rosalind, and the kids are a salve for those moments of loneliness that swell up and overwhelm her. Like tonight, their house is a welcome respite from the bone deep cold, a cozy cocoon that she can wrap herself up in from time to time.

Brienne pulls on all of her layers as she prepares to leave, the kids already tucked in bed, the house becoming peaceful once again. She thanks Ros for the food and tromps down the stairs in her heavy winter boots. When she opens the door, there is sleet falling from the skies. A messy slurry of snow and frozen water is starting to coat the cobblestones. She contemplates trying to skate home over them, but then Gal says her name from the top of the stairs. “We have the attic room,” he says gently. The offer makes her feel fragile, like she’s twelve years old to his sixteen. He scolded her once, for having a hopeless crush on a boy she knew would never possibly like her back. 

She loves her brother, but they have different lives, different timelines. It’s never felt like he’s understood what she’s going through. He met Rosalind at twenty-two, when she was on the island visiting some distant family member of hers, a great aunt. Brienne had just left for university and didn’t have her first kiss until she was twenty. 

She turns to look at him now, filling the doorway at the top of the stairs, an imposing figure like their father, and closes the front door. Brienne slips off her boots and leaves them to the side of the welcome mat. 

The sleet tinkles against the attic skylight and the wind howls all night, but she sleeps heavily, her body more wrung out than she realized. In the morning, the sun slices brightly through the skylight. Brienne pulls open the curtains which mask the windows overlooking the main road. The cobblestone street glitters with ice, but the sun is bright, and the sky is a cloudless, clear blue. Even tucked safely inside, she can feel the crackle of crisp, cold air against her cheeks. 

It’s nearly noon before she starts her walk home. Even though businesses have stayed closed because of the storm, there are tracks on the road where others have tread, parts of the ice gone and now turned to slush, other parts still frozen. Brienne steps carefully, fearful of her feet slipping and bringing her whole body down with them. It happened when she was at college in the North, but there was usually snow to cushion her fall. 

At Winterfell, she always enjoyed the peacefulness after a snowfall. It’s no different here. The streets are quiet and even though they are tricky to navigate, the day is beautiful, and Brienne finds herself taking a long route back to her apartment. She considers walking down to the beach, but the closest street that leads there is sheeted in ice, and the downward grade has turned the road into a slick slide. Instead, she loops back around, walking through the center of town, past the shuttered shops, the striped awnings taken down in anticipation of the storm. The road leads down to the docks and even at a distance, she’s surprised to see one of the ferries in the harbor. In the winter, the boats make the trip less often and mostly serve as vessels for carrying goods to and from the island. 

By the time she nears her building, there’s the echo of people’s voices in the street. Others have broken out of their winter nests and are enjoying the day. She fishes through her bag as she walks, unable to find her keys, and searches through her coat pockets, before finally locating them, the quiet jingle softened by her palm as she pulls them out. Brienne glances up, surprised to see someone standing near her building. His back is to her and he’s wearing a long, dark blue puffy coat and a bright red knitted cap. Tarth is small enough that she knows the shopkeeper across the way, Raquel and her boyfriend Alain, but it seems unlikely Raquel would be opening today, much less sending her boyfriend to do it for her. The man still has his back to her, his hands in his pockets. “Can I help you?” she asks, her voice echoing in the nearly empty street. 

The man turns towards her and as soon as she sees that jawline, the silver flecks in his beard, time slows down. Her eyes rake over the features of Jaime’s face, so she notices the moment he realizes it’s her, his green eyes sparkling to life, a smile pulling at his cheeks, those eye crinkles only adding to his good looks. 

When she catches her breath, “What are you doing here?” 

He’s already stepping closer to her, and she can feel the heat of his body, warming the air around her, catches his scent, and it’s all so intimate it makes her eyelids flutter closed for a brief moment. When he speaks, his voice is soft and low, as if he was whispering into her ear. It makes Brienne remember the gentle scrape of his beard against her cheek, and a small spark of heat ignites low in her spine, sending shivers through her whole body, even as she tries to concentrate on his words. 

“The ferry driver didn’t want to take me, but I insisted. I had to see you.” He tentatively draws even closer, eyes searching hers, wondering if she will allow him. The material of their coats brush against each other, a soft whoosh and static created between the synthetic outer shells. Jaime draws a hand out of his pocket, fingers wrapping around her sleeve, squeezing her wrist. “I’m ready. If you’ll still have me.” His voice trembles. 

“Why would you-” Brienne starts, the logical side of her brain wanting answers, but her heart is pounding and he’s standing there, looking at her with a gentle furrow to his brow. Fuck it. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, and she’s kissing him. 

She is kissing _him_. 

Her gloved hand is drawn to his cheek, the soft bristles of his beard poking through the wool, but it only makes her tug him closer until he is chuckling in relief against her mouth. “It’s freezing,” she murmurs, wrapping her hand around his bare one, trying to warm it. “Come inside.” 

Jaime nods and follows her, waiting patiently as she fumbles with the key and then the lock. The two of them stand close in the entryway as she closes the door behind him, his hand on her lower back as she steps back, nearly tripping over his feet. Upstairs, he pulls off his knit hat and Brienne her gloves, tossing them on the table near the door. 

She laughs at his mussed hair and neither of them manage to unzip their coats before they are in each other’s arms again. Jaime reaches up, brushing her blonde curls back from her face, his eyes studying hers. His soft smile makes her want to snuggle up with him and never let go. His fingers pull at the zipper of her coat, tugging it halfway down so he can slip his hands past the outer puffy layers and actually touch her. His hands land at her waist as he presses a gentle kiss to her lips and then another. Brienne’s hips are pressed up against the small table in the entryway, a soft whimper on her lips as his mouth burns a path down her neck. She tries to reach to unzip his coat, but something blocks her path. “Sorry, the snaps are buttoned,” Jaime laughs, helping her straighten up from where she’s resting against the table. “It was cold.” 

“And you didn’t even have gloves,” she chides playfully, her fingers reaching for the snaps on his coat, moving slowly down his body. She can feel his warm breath on her neck and her stomach twists in anticipation as her fingers unsnap the last button. Her hands travel back up his body, palms skimming over the fabric of his sweater, the taut muscle underneath, causing Jaime to let out a low sound at the back of his throat. Brienne pushes his coat off his shoulders, and as it falls to the floor with a whoosh and soft thunk, he’s already stepping into her, claiming her mouth again, her cheek in his palm, his tongue along her lower lip as she tilts her chin down. She walks backwards in the vague direction of her bedroom, unable to stop the moan in her throat as he nips at her ear, his beard burning against the soft skin of her neck. 

“Brienne,” he murmurs, his hand grasping the end of her coat and hurriedly unzipping it before tossing it to the floor. His arms wrap around her again, fingertips threading through her hair as he tilts his head to kiss her neck. Jaime’s other hand slips under her sweater, resting at the small of her back, but the air against her skin makes her shiver, even as his touch tries to warm her. “Sorry,” he apologizes, his forehead resting against hers for a second, both of them taking a moment to breathe. 

Even though he said he was ready, their pause allows anxiety to grasp her. Questions flood her mind, as much as she wants this. “Do you have to go back to Lannisport?”

His thumb sweeps across her cheek, but he drops his gaze, and Brienne starts to push him away from her. If he thinks he can show up here and disappear again, she won’t--but he interrupts her thoughts. 

“My family is important to me, but I can’t be at their beck and call. When I left before, it was because I was scared. I’ve had relationships end because of my family, and I didn’t want that to happen again.” He’s quiet, letting her take it all in. It’s odd to realize they’re still getting to know one another, because a part of her feels like she knows him so deeply. It’s ridiculous to say she wouldn’t let his family ruin their relationship--she’s never met them--but somehow, it’s the truth. 

Brienne shakes her head, her focus firmly on him. “I’m not scared. I want-” She doesn’t even finish the sentence, because Jaime is kissing her fiercely, pressing her up against the wall in the hallway that leads to her bedroom. Her fingers run through his hair, and the only sounds between them are soft laughter, heavy breathing, and hums of pleasure. Her hands bunch in the fabric of his sweater, and Brienne lifts it over his head, unsurprised but selfishly disappointed that he’s wearing a long sleeve shirt underneath. The effort earns a flash of a smile from Jaime before he is dropping down to his knees. 

Her breath catches in her throat, her head dropping back against the wall, eyelids closing in anticipation. Jaime withholds his touch for a long moment but she can sense him watching her. Brienne makes a half strangled sound when his hands trail down her legs, palms against her thighs, fingers brushing behind her knee, and his hand cups her calf as he begins to unlace her heavy winter boots. 

She does open her eyes then. Her muscles feel frozen, but hunger coils in her stomach as she holds herself back, waiting to see what he does, her whole body aching for him. Jaime slowly unties the knot, her hand on his shoulder for balance as he guides her to step out of the left boot, and then repeats the same, unhurried process on the right. By the end, her legs are shaking underneath his touch, and his name is a whisper on her lips. He sits back on his heels, looking up at her with such care in his eyes. 

“Please,” she whispers, reaching out to touch his hair, running her fingers through it, his eyes closing at her touch. Jaime’s hand curls around her wrist, bringing it to his mouth and placing gentle kisses on each knuckle, then turning it so he can press a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. She drops her head back against the wall again because she can’t stand it any longer, pleading, “Jaime.” 

He rises to his knees, hands traveling up her legs, creating a heat from where his skin brushes against the fabric. She gazes down at him, hands resting on his shoulders as he ever so carefully lifts her sweater and gently kisses her stomach. His green eyes burn into hers as he unbuttons her jeans and slides the zipper down, before tugging at the fabric, working them over her hips and pulling at the legs, and then finally sliding them over her ankles until she is standing there, half clothed. He tips his head up to look at her, a devilish grin crossing his face, and even though she can barely breathe, she laughs, her hands smoothing through his hair. 

Brienne’s movements still only when he begins to roll the fabric of her panties down and she gasps, trying to resist the urge to grasp the back of his head and shove his mouth where she wants it, but she hopes he can tell--from her breath and her movements--how much she wants this. He teases her, his hand caressing her ankle, wanting it to last. As he rids her of the small scrap of clothing, he begins to move more urgently. Jaime’s hands are warm on her calves as he guides her to widen her stance, his hot breath on her skin enough to make her shiver. She moans as his beard brushes against the inside of her thighs as he plants kisses there. Cruelly, he pauses, and her fingers grip the back of his neck, perhaps enough encouragement, because then his mouth is on her. Brienne lets out a cry above him, which makes him _hmmm_ against her. Her legs are quaking already, and he braces his hands on the back of her thighs, just above her knees. 

She has little to hold onto, her nails raking through his hair, and the way he moves his tongue against her combined with the gentle friction of his beard makes her want to melt into him. He reaches up, pressing her hip against the wall and slipping her leg over his shoulder, and a volt of electricity shoots through her, legs tightening around his head and spine digging into the wall as she unravels. Jaime’s fingers brush gently at the back of her knees as she comes down, and he gently kisses her inner thighs before he sits back on his heels again. Her hand hasn’t left his hair, and she traces soft circles along his scalp, making him hum against her, like a satisfied cat. Jaime draws a hand across his mouth and beard, the long-sleeved shirt he’s wearing does little to disguise the outline of muscle in his arms. 

He glances up at her, a self-satisfied smirk playing across his lips. Brienne’s face is flushed, half embarrassed about coming so quickly, half at the sounds she made, but it’s been a long time, and the build up with Jaime was months in the making. 

She’s about to say something, except Jaime breathes, “Fuck,” and rests his head against her stomach, his hand wrapping around her thigh again, as if he is about to redouble his efforts. The mere thought makes desire pulse through her so strongly she can no longer hold herself up. Brienne slides down the wall and drops down to her knees beside him. 

Jaime shifts closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his nose against her neck. She laughs softly, never imagining any of this, him showing up on her doorstep in the middle of an ice storm, sitting in her hallway half naked with him, wanting to devour him without talking through everything first. 

“Brienne,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against her skin before he works her sweater over her head. Jaime is still wearing too many clothes; although she doesn’t mind the way his arm muscles bulge underneath his tight gray long-sleeved shirt. She tugs him closer, hot breath and mouths meeting and low noises between them. Her hand runs up his back and slips under the soft cotton of his shirt, lifting it up over his head. She barely has time to admire his chest or the patch of blonde hair there, some of which is turning gray, before he is collapsing down onto the rug that lines her hallway. 

He’s still wearing his pants, and the shy smirk that slides across his face makes the hunger coiled tightly in her stomach lash out like a whip, encouraging her body into movement. Brienne leans forward, teeth nipping at his lip before she reaches for his belt. Jaime makes a delicious low noise and her fingers tremble as she unbuttons his pants. She swings a leg over him, straddling his hips, and he lets out a hiss of low breath, his hands at her waist, urging her to move against him. Instead she leans forward, a brief kiss on his lips, which makes him raise his head for more, but Brienne has already moved on, her fingers tracing down the lines of muscle as her mouth meets his skin. 

“Yes,” he intones, voice gravelly, his breath shaky, his hands warm against her. She moves lower and lower, tongue tracing his happy trail, Jaime watching her through hooded eyes, jaw slack. She tugs on his pants, working them down his hips, until she can take him in her hand. When she strokes him, his whole body seems to give itself over to her, the muscles of his stomach twitching, and his head falls back, a low cry in his throat. Seeing him spread out before her, vulnerable, fills her with a strange satisfaction that she hadn’t been imagining all these months. He wants her, longs for her, as much as she does him. She’s torn between the desire to lower her mouth to him or straddle his hips again and-- 

“I want to be inside you,” he practically groans as she strokes him again, and Brienne is scrambling off of him so he can shove his pants down his legs and extract a condom from his wallet, and then she is rolling it down over his shaft and _fuck_ , the moment he fills her she can’t breathe for a second. Jaime takes her hands in his, lacing his fingers through hers and tugging her towards him so he can kiss her. “You okay?” he asks, and the gentleness in his voice makes a wave of emotion rise up, but she bites her lip and nods. 

“You feel amazing,” she whispers, and Jaime lets go of her hand to press his to her cheek and kiss her properly before he thrusts up into her. She is cheek to cheek with him, his breath in her ear, her cries in his. Her hips begin to roll against his, and her hands are braced behind his head as she pushes herself up so she can see his face, his green eyes bright, almost blinding as they move together. 

“I’m not sure,” he hisses as her hips crash into his. “I can last-- _fuck, Brienne_.” Jaime’s hand presses at the small of her back, so she’ll lower her body closer to his, mouth colliding with hers, teeth snagging her lower lip. “I’ve thought about this for months.” 

Brienne’s throat closes, willing the tears to go away, but Jaime notices them anyway, pressing a light kiss to her cheek. “Me too,” she replies, before straightening, her fingers sliding to her clit. 

Jaime’s face is open, eyes wide with awe and longing, even though they are here with each other, her hips rolling against his, her breath knocked away every time he moves inside of her. A playful smile flickers across his face as his hand covers her own. “Let me.” His voice is so low, it sounds like a growl in his throat, a command, but his eyes are soft. He uses his thumb effectively as he thrusts his hips up, drawing her quickly to a place where she is unable to keep from begging. 

_Jaime please please I need fuck_. He drives inside her, and her hips are shuddering and bucking around him, out of her control, and _fuck_ he feels so good, she wants to consume him. Her body curls inwards, and his hand tangles in her hair, saying her name in her ear as he finishes. She collapses against him, the heat from her body rapidly dissipating in the cool air, and he smoothes his hands over her shoulders and up and down her back in an effort to keep her warm. 

Brienne opens her mouth to say something, realizing the words on her lips are close to _I love you_. Perhaps an old habit, perhaps a little bit the truth. “Jaime,” she intones breathily, still awe-struck over what they’ve just done and he laughs, the sound vibrating pleasantly in his chest. 

“I’m very content to have you on top of me,” he says lightly. “But it’s fucking freezing.” 

He’s right and a few minutes later, they’re tucked in her bed together, sheets and blankets drawn up to their shoulders. Jaime sweeps his thumb across her cheek causing her eyelids to flutter closed for a moment. They blink open to study his face. Underneath his beard, it looks as if his own face is flushed with warmth or happiness or both and the corners of his eyes are crinkled up because he can’t seem to stop grinning. 

“You have questions.” He knows her. 

Brienne nods. “What about your business? Your family?” Jaime’s thumb moves gently, trying to smooth the lines in her forehead and she leans into his touch, brushing her lips across his jawline gratefully. 

“I care about my family very much,” he says, the eye crinkles disappearing as his face grows serious. “But I should have drawn boundaries with them years ago. I let them…” he trails off, grasping for words. “ _Control_ me in a way I shouldn’t have. It’s one of the reasons I moved away from Lannisport. I thought the distance would help.” Brienne rubs her hand up and down his arm, encouraging him to go on. “It sounds stupid, that it took me my whole life to figure this out.” 

“It doesn’t,” she shakes her head. “And not your whole life. You still have plenty of time, Jaime. You started your own business. That’s not nothing.” 

His eyes brighten at her words as he regards her with wonder, his voice falling to a reverent whisper. “Where did you come from?”

“Tarth,” she teases, capturing his mouth with her own. 

Jaime rolls on top of her, hands and mouth tracing paths that make her gasp, clutch his shoulders, and cry his name. They talk and move together, and afterwards as they are curled beside one another, talk some more, his beard brushing across her shoulder as they whisper plans. By late afternoon, the winter sun stretches across her bed, dappling Jaime in its golden light as he dozes, giving her time to admire the jut of his cheekbones underneath the silvery grey of his beard, the tongue shaped hollow of his throat, the perfect width of his chest and shoulders. 

They’ve talked about whether he should split his time between King’s Landing and Tarth, and while she is happy that he wants to spend time here, deep down, she’s worried about the distance, worried it will let space and silence breed between them, like it had during her marriage. It feels unfair to ask of him when Jaime is already giving up so much of his life to be with her, but as much as she tries to tuck those concerns away, just as quickly they spring back up again. 

He stirs underneath the covers, sleepy and vulnerable, eyelashes blinking open and drinking her in. His eyes, like the rest of him, are pretty, and the more she studies them, the more she realizes they telegraph his emotions. Just now, they twinkle in the light, a contentedness settling across his features. Jaime tugs her into him, their limbs tangling together as he breathes her name against her skin. 

Brienne moves on top of him, hair falling in her face, but he sweeps it back, a smile flickering to light in his eyes as she leans in to kiss him. Her lips linger on his, teasing, until he responds with teeth and tongue. She pulls away from him suddenly, fingertips along his jawline, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, eyes darkening. There’s something about the way he can merely look at her that makes her whole body flush. In her life before, Brienne was never driven by sex, never attracted purely to someone because of how they looked. Perhaps because of the complicated relationship she had with her own body--growing up feeling too big, too awkward, less feminine--but with Jaime, everything feels different. He causes a craving inside her, one which she’s never experienced before.

He seems to know, somehow, because smiles pass between them as she skates her hands down his bare chest. Jaime responds, his hand on her breast, Brienne arching into his touch. He sits up, teasing her with his mouth, tweaking her nipple with his teeth until her chest is flushed and she’s squirming against him, her head thrown back. 

“I love seeing you like that,” he murmurs, covering her skin with kisses. 

“You don’t play fair,” she groans. 

Jaime laughs. “Nor did I ever claim to.” 

She gives his chest a playful shove, but doesn’t expect Jaime to fall back onto the mattress so easily or take him with her. They both laugh. Brienne is splayed across him, and when she tries to sit up, her thigh brushes his half-hard cock, causing him to suck in a breath over his teeth. Her nerves prickle, a strange but pleasant sensation, which starts in her toes and fingers, then courses through her whole body as the increasingly familiar feeling of hunger for him takes over. Brienne smiles as she lowers her head, pressing open mouthed kisses to his chest, tongue darting into the hollow of his neck as he rakes his fingers through her hair, a satisfied sigh on his lips. 

His body is showing signs of age, but much like the gray in his beard and hair, it serves him well. Jaime is still strong, arms and shoulders taut with muscle and sinew, and Brienne has found herself distracted by the way his veins stand out in his forearms. His chest is wide enough to bear her weight and the hardened planes of muscle are still visible when he is laid out underneath her like this, but there’s a softening of his middle and the beginnings of cute little love handles. 

She traces all of it with her mouth, and Jaime is responsive, breath hitching, his fingers raking through her hair softly even as her tongue works lower. “Tease,” he accuses her, his voice raspy, as she slows her movements, pausing as she nears the end of the trail of hair pointing to his cock. Brienne breathes him in, her nose pressed into a divot of skin, the muscles of his thighs twitching. He reaches down, brushing back her hair and gathering it at the nape of her neck in his fist. “Brienne.” The low tone of it scrapes across her skin, hoarse with heat and want. 

When she takes him in her mouth, his hips grind against the bed sheets as he lets out a strangled sound of pleasure. She lowers her head, taking in as much of him as she can before moving back up and swirling her tongue around the head. Jaime’s watching her, but when she does that, his head falls back against the pillows, a curse on his lips. His hand is still curled in her hair, but she likes the gentle pressure as she lowers her head again and hollows out her cheeks. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs, continuing to talk to her in that gravelly voice, saying how good she is at this, how long he’s thought about it, which only spurns her on. 

Her hand moves from where it's clutching his thigh to cup his balls, Jaime letting out _hnnnng_ sound above her. As she drives him closer to the edge, his cock heavy against her tongue, the musk in the air seems to grow thicker, and then his warning in a raspy mumble. Brienne keeps going, wanting to taste him. His fingers twist in her hair, grip tightening in the moment before, hips jerking as he comes. She glances up, watching him, biting his lip before his head tilts back, a cry falling from his mouth. Then Jaime’s gaze falls on her, green eyes glazed over but soft, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. She smiles around him, satisfaction rising up in her as she licks him clean. He makes a noise of appreciation in his throat, and his head tilts back, resting against the pillow again. 

“Gods,” he breathes, fingers gentle in her hair. 

Brienne lies against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, noticing that the sky outside has darkened. They’ve barely torn themselves away from each other for what feels like days, but it’s only been hours. Her stomach growls, and she traces her fingers through his chest hair. 

She rests her chin on his chest, looking up at him. “Are you hungry?” 

“Depends,” he quirks up an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Are you on the menu?” 

“ _Jaime_!” she exclaims, smacking his shoulder softly. 

“Dessert then,” he smiles, a little too smugly, making both of them laugh. 

Their clothes are still littering her hallway, so she tosses him a sweatshirt from her wardrobe and pulls on underwear and a sweater before they traipse into the kitchen. She sits on the counter, watching Jaime make eggs in his boxers and her Winterfell hoodie, his fingers curling around her knee as he handles the spatula with his left hand. He has a gentle ease within her space, one which makes Brienne almost forget he wasn’t always a part of her life. 

As they settle down to eat their breakfast for dinner, her chest swells with giddy happiness, reveling in his company. They talk for a while after finishing their meal, but inevitably end up horizontal on her couch, Jaime making good on his promise about dessert. 

*

The next morning, the ice is nearly gone, and after Jaime thoroughly wakes her, suggests they walk to the coffee shop for some air. When they step out her front door, the town is cloaked in a bluish light, as if the sun was filtered by the color of the sky. There are gray clouds in the distance, and Brienne wonders if another storm is on the horizon. 

Their steps echo along the cobblestones, Jaime’s hand in hers, tugging her close when a brisk wind blows against them as they head into town. In the coffee shop, they choose one of the tables by the window, her legs resting against his underneath the table as they sit quietly sipping their coffee. Brienne has just suggested a trip to the store when the sun breaks free of the clouds, shining brightly through the window. He squints, the sunlight reflecting gold in his eyelashes and reaches for her hand. 

“Maybe a walk along the beach instead?” 

She smiles, happy he shares her appreciation for the island. It gives her an idea as they pull on their layers again and say goodbye to Siani as they head out the door. Brienne tugs Jaime across the street to the shelter of the bus stop. 

“What are you doing?” he says lightly, a mischievous glimmer in his eye just before she kisses him. “What will everyone say?” he teases her between kisses. “A daughter of Tarth making out with a strange man from the mainland.” 

“I guess they’ll just have to get used to it.” She grins at him as the bus pulls up. 

They take seats near the middle. Jaime’s arm circles around her shoulders, their knees bumping together as the vehicle bounces over the cobblestone streets. Sitting there in the coffee shop with him, she’d had the strangest sensation that her mother somehow _knew_ and was happy for her. It wasn’t the first time in her adult life that Brienne had experienced this link with her mother. She’d never mentioned it to Ron. Yet, she thinks Jaime would understand. 

When they step off the bus on the other side of Tarth, it’s as if they are in a completely different world. It’s so quiet here, the wind whistling past their ears as they walk hand in hand. Brienne realizes this part of the island has changed very little. The houses are small, closer to cottages, and while some of them have been fixed up, or at the very least, splashed with a fresh coat of paint, none of the cosmopolitan shine of the town center has made its way here yet. It’s stuck in time, reminding her of the Tarth of her youth. The sharp rocks and swirling waters of Shipbreaker’s Bay are far away. Here, the entrance to the beach is covered in tall grasses, now brown in the winter sun, but Brienne finds a place where they are trampled down, a path cut through to the sand. 

The wind bites at their cheeks, but it doesn’t deter her and she draws him along. Craggy rocks line the edge of the beach, but unlike the sharp black ones on the other side of the island, these have been worn down by the tides, soft moss covering them. In her memories, it is always spring and summer, vibrant and green, the sea gently lapping at the shore. Today it is gray and bitterly cold. Perhaps it was a bad idea to come. 

“Brienne,” he says, his voice carried away by the wind. Jaime draws her close, using his body to shelter hers. “What is it?” As they turn back towards the island behind them, land rises on either side of the beach, as if Tarth itself was trying to protect them. 

She brought him here because she wants him to know her, even when things are scary or hard, yet she finds herself hesitating. “We lived here when my mother was still alive.” She points to a place in the distance. “Right up that little road.” 

When she looks at him, it’s unclear whether his eyes are watery from the cold air or what she’s told him. Even though her instinct is telling her to run, Jaime doesn’t let her slip out of his arms. He presses his lips to her cheek, murmuring in her ear, “Thank you for showing me.”


	4. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun has not been up long enough yet to warm the water as fully as it will by the afternoon. She likes being here early, before the crowds and the heat. It’s meditative, the walk to the beach, the sound of the waves, and the gentle way her arms cut through the sea as she swims. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to winterkill for being an awesome beta and forbiddenfantasies1 for her unflagging support.

**Summer**

Brienne stands at the water’s edge, the waves gently lapping at her feet. As they move into summer, the sun rises earlier and earlier, and she finds it difficult to sleep. She’s taken to starting her days with a walk or, if it’s warm enough, a swim. The early morning light is glittering across the cresting waves as Brienne begins a slow walk into the surf. 

When the water is swirling around her upper thighs, she pauses, skimming her fingertips across the surface, letting the surf tug at her, racing towards her one minute, pressing her back towards the shore, towards safety and warmth and life, then trying to lure her out to sea the next. 

Submerging farther and farther into the waves, her whole body tenses as it adjusts to the cool temperature. The sun has not been up long enough yet to warm the water as fully as it will by the afternoon. She likes being here early, before the crowds and the heat. It’s meditative, the walk to the beach, the sound of the waves, and the gentle way her arms cut through the sea as she swims. 

Being in motion allows her to clear away some of her stress: anxieties about the hotel opening twisting into thoughts of Jaime and whether he is happy here with her. He barely lasted two months splitting his time between King’s Landing and Tarth before he wanted to move in with her. 

She hesitated because, in some ways, she had just finished piecing a new life together, one that she built on her own. But she missed Jaime when he was on the mainland, so he made it easy to say yes. Brienne had crafted a life here for herself, and she was choosing to make space for him in it. 

Brienne surfaces with a smile on her face and twists her body around so she’s lying on her back, floating atop the sea, weightless. 

Making her way to the shore, her breathing is heavy from the effort of fighting her way through the surf, and the cool air hitting her skin makes goosebumps prickle along her arms and legs. Arriving as early in the mornings as she does, Brienne feels safe leaving her belongings on the beach unsupervised, and she grabs a towel from her bag, rubbing her hands up and down her arms and rings the water out of her hair. 

The light reflects off the rippling water, and she turns towards it, happy to feel the sun on her face. She thinks about her parents, who met and married on Tarth, and the long line of ancestors before them who lived and loved here, centuries of people who fought for this island, her home.

*  
Brienne makes an effort to be quiet as she climbs the stairs up to the apartment door, unsure if Jaime is awake yet. Upon reaching the landing outside the apartment, she starts to undress and hang up some of her wet things on the hooks on the wall. 

Jaime opens the front door, his hair still mussed from sleep, and leans lazily against the doorjamb, assessing her. “Are you getting naked on our front stoop?” The _our_ makes Brienne’s stomach lurch in a pleasant way. 

“Are you objecting?” she teases, continuing to shimmy her shorts down her legs. 

“Nope,” he pronounces, popping the p. Brienne slips off her shorts and hangs them up to dry.   
She glances over at him just as he licks his lips, his eyes running up her body as she stands there in her damp swimsuit. “Come here.” His voice is still rough with sleep. 

Brienne steps into him, trying to hold her body away since she doesn’t want to get his clothes wet, but Jaime’s hand lands at the small of her back and he traces his fingertips up her spine, making her shiver and inch closer. He is still warm from bed and tips his chin up to kiss her lightly. 

“Mmm, you smell like the sea,” he murmurs into her ear and then buries his nose in her neck. 

She lets out a soft _hmmm_ , enjoying the sensation of his body flush against hers. He shifts against her, pressing a kiss to her neck, the start of a trail. Brienne slips her hand under his t-shirt, fingers dancing along the waistband of his boxers and eliciting a groan from him. Jaime quickly steers her inside and shuts the door behind them. 

*

When she gets out of the shower, Jaime is already in the kitchen making breakfast. “I told you to wait!” she yells, throwing on a clean tank top and cotton shorts.

“It seemed silly when I’m perfectly capable of making breakfast,” he says when she appears in the kitchen. “Besides, I figured you were probably hungry after swimming.” 

She wraps her arms around him from behind and rests her chin on his shoulder. When he tries to turn to look at her, his beard brushes against her cheek, and it’s enough to make her knees weak. A simple, brief touch from him has the power to ignite her, but there is also an ease and intimacy to these gestures which takes her breath away every time. The connection between them is real and in whatever ways Jaime is willing to give himself, he is hers. 

“But you’ve made breakfast every day this week.” 

His laugh reverberates in his chest. “I don’t mind.” Jaime rests his hand on top of one of hers and squeezes her fingers. 

“Are you sure?” Brienne straightens. He nods and she presses a gentle kiss to the back of his neck, pausing to breathe him in. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, lover.” 

“Jaime!” She laughs but wrinkles her nose. For weeks, he’s been trying to come up with a term of endearment for her because she told him no one had ever called her anything other than her name, so every so often, he will slip one into casual conversation to see her reaction. “That sounds sordid.” 

He turns off the eye of the stove and turns in her arms, biting his lip as he thinks. “What about love?” The way his voice dips low catches in her chest. His green eyes are intent on hers, and she nods, unable to form words. Jaime reaches up to cup her cheek in his palm, and her eyes flutter closed with a sigh as his lips brush across hers. When he pulls back from the kiss, he traces his thumb along her chin, her lips, before he tucks his cheek against hers, mouth against her ear. “I love you,” he murmurs. 

Brienne sucks in a breath, arms circling his shoulders and holding him close, surprised to feel tears in her eyes. Her instinctual reaction is hesitancy and doubt, a voice chiming in, _this is happening too fast_. She’s been conditioned to doubt her own happiness and finds herself anticipating the other shoe to drop. 

Jaime has pushed past all her boundaries, because she was willing to let them fall. She nods against him, whispering, “I love you, too.” 

“Good,” he says, drawing back from her with a smile, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes opening up his whole beautiful face. “Besides, making breakfast is the least I can do when you’re letting the Lannister brood invade later today.” 

“You know I’m happy to have them here,” Brienne replies. 

They’d talked about it for weeks. He wanted to remain a part of his niece and nephews’ lives and the distance from Lannisport wouldn’t alter that, but their apartment barely had room for Jaime’s desk, much less three additional humans. Rosalind had graciously offered to provide shelter for the boys, and Myrcella was content to sleep on Brienne’s couch. It wasn’t ideal, but it would work for this visit. They needed a larger place. She can see his thoughts turn towards all of this now, so she places a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Let’s eat.” 

*

As they walk from the apartment towards the docks, Jaime slips his hand into hers. The sun is high in the sky now, beaming down onto Tarth’s main street which is bustling with people. Even though Brienne is aware of the island’s heightened reputation, the influx of tourists this summer has surprised her. 

Galladon had wanted the hotel to be ready by the beginning of the season, but with repairs and additions, they’d pushed the soft opening to the start of August. Jaime was gracious enough to offer to design a logo for the hotel and integrate it with Sapphire Isle Tours’ graphics. It was another small way he’d shown he was serious about their relationship. 

Brienne brought Jaime to family dinners, and while Rosalind adored him and trusted him with the kids, Galladon remained resolute, more difficult to convince. She was more hurt by it than Jaime seemed to be, though, telling her after the last dinner that Gal was only being protective like any older brother would. 

Someone on a bike goes sailing past them, a little too close to Brienne, and Jaime makes a disgruntled noise in his throat. His arm wraps around her waist, drawing her closer as they walk to the ferry stop. The sea is calm and flat today, the blue-green water stretching out before them as far as they can see, the mainland a gray spot in the distance. As the white ship moves closer and closer to the island, Brienne turns into Jaime, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes against the bright sun. Salt hangs heavy in the air, but it is the scent of him that fills her nose, woodsy and clean, warm and familiar. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice a rumble in his throat, his hand stroking her bare shoulder. He has an uncanny ability to pick up on her feelings, to gather her up gently when she didn’t even know she needed it. His sensitivity, empathy, his _softness_ are the qualities she loves the most about him. When she arrives home, he always asks about her day and _listens_ , and it is such a simple, small thing, but one that Brienne is unendingly grateful for. She blinks her eyes open, admiring the long line of his nose, knowing by the end of the day he will be even more sun-kissed and golden while she will have to hide her fair skin under layers of protection. Brienne nods and straightens, but the brightness of the sun makes her blink sleepily, and Jaime laughs softly before pressing a kiss to her forehead and whispering. “They’re going to adore you as much as I do.”

A couple months ago she’d gone to Lannisport with him to meet his brother, nephews, and niece. They were welcoming and lovely, but having them here, on her island and in her home, makes her stomach prickle with nerves. 

The ferry has reached the harbor, and they wait among the gathering crowd. Brienne is anxious that the kids won’t see them in the cluster of people, but within the first few passengers disembarking, a boy with blonde curls makes a beeline towards them. 

“Jaimeeee!” He launches himself at his uncle, which elicits a booming laugh from Jaime. “Did you see the ship we had to take? Isn’t it cool?” 

He stoops over to wrap Tommen into a hug. The boy is nearly ten, but small for his age. “It is! Did you enjoy the trip?” 

“Joff and I stood out on the deck for a while so we could see better, but Myr got too hot.” Tommen glances back at the ferry, presumably to look for his brother and sister. When he turns back around, he smiles shyly up at her. “Hi, Brienne.” 

“Hi,” she replies, returning his smile. Glancing back towards the ferry, Joffrey and Myrcella are striding towards them, and Brienne is a little shocked at how different Joffrey looks in just the couple months since she met him, all lean and grown. Jaime must see it too, because she notices his chin tremble a little, and then he’s embracing his nephew in that manly way, a lot of shoulder slapping and ‘you good?’ asides. 

Myrcella smiles politely at Brienne. “Thank you for letting us come.” 

“Of course,” she replies as Jaime steps in to give his niece a hug. 

Brienne steps away to give the baggage transport service her address to deliver the kids’ luggage, and when she turns back to find them in the crowd again, Jaime’s smile is magnetic, his whole face is lit up. Her stomach twists. When things were becoming serious between them and he wanted to move in with her, she had been clear about her hard lines: she had no plans to get married again, and she did not want children. He accepted both of them easily, but now Brienne wonders if she should have pushed him more. 

When she arrives back at his side, he turns his smile towards her. “You ready?” 

Brienne nods, her heart clenching when he reaches over and takes her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. 

*

They spend the afternoon letting the children settle in, taking luggage over to Gal and Rosalind’s so the boys can see the attic space they’ll be sharing in the evenings. They have lunch at the pub where she and Jaime met up months and months ago, and while the kids dart in and out of the shops on the main street, Brienne visits others, buying cheese and fruit and other snacks for a picnic. 

As it grows closer to evening, they return to the apartment to let Myrcella change into her swimsuit, slipping a sweet sundress over it. The boys have been wearing their swim trunks all afternoon and Jaime slathers all of them in sunscreen. Brienne slips into the bedroom to change, leaving on her racerback tank, but since the temperature drops quickly in the evenings, pulls a thin sweater out of the dresser and a long-sleeved shirt for Jaime. 

He appears in the doorway, his hands white with sunblock, kicking the door shut with his foot. “I thought you might need it on those delicate shoulders of yours,” he says, smirking. Her cheeks flush, but she obeys, standing with her back to him. His touch is gentle on her skin, but the sunscreen is cool, and it makes her shiver. Jaime’s breath on her neck is enough to make her body pulse with want. She lets out a soft sigh and he draws even closer, his leg pressed up against the back of hers. 

“Brienne,” he murmurs and she turns into him, her arms wrapping his neck to draw him in for a heated kiss. The kids laugh in the other room and the moment is broken, Jaime chuckling against her mouth, but he smiles softly at her when they part. “Later,” he promises. “For now, you need more sunscreen.” He lightly taps her nose. 

They trek down to the beach. Ros and Galladon have set up the grill by one of the picnic tables, and the smell of salt and smoking meat carries Brienne back to her childhood, all the long summer days she spent here with her family. As she unpacks the small cooler, Joffrey and Tommen beg to go for a swim and Myrcella follows, walking along the edge of the surf, and helping Jaime to corral Mari and Caelen. A sea of deep affection swells up in her chest as she watches him kneel down in the sand to look at something with Caelen. Brienne can sense Rosalind watching, too, her eyes meeting her sister-in-law’s knowing gaze. Uncertainty squeezes her chest, and she presses her palms against the wooden bench. 

Jaime glances across the sand at her and gestures with his head for her to come join them. Her feet carry her there, even as her mind is whirling away, anxiety pressing at the back of her throat. _I was wrong_ , she wants to tell him. _Maybe I do want those things. I want you to have them_. 

*

After dinner, Joffrey organizes the others and they start playing a game, Jaime and Ros talking over their distant shouts and laughter. 

When his conversation with Ros is finished, he says, “You’ve been quiet tonight.” He reaches for her hand and pulls it into his lap. 

“I’m good. Just thinking.” 

His eyebrows raise slightly, as if he knows better. “Come on a walk with me?” 

“What about the kids?” 

Jaime’s gaze pulls away to temporarily survey them and then shrugs, satisfied. “They’ll be okay. Ros and Galladon are here.” 

The air is growing cooler, even though the long light of summer still stretches out across the waves. Brienne pulls out the sweater from one of their bags, slipping it over her head. Jaime lets out a soft laugh, and she looks up from straightening the fabric. “What?” 

“You’re cute is all.” He steps into her, pressing a kiss to her cheek and sliding his hand into hers. They’ve taken a few steps down the beach when he adds, “And that’s my sweater.” 

She laughs then and teases him, her eyebrows raising, “Is it? Guess you better steal it back from me then.” 

Jaime’s hands land at her waist, tickling her, even as Brienne shrieks and runs away from his grasp. He chases after her, gathering her up in his arms, her toes skimming across the sand as he lifts her into the air, before placing her gently back on the ground again. She’s left gasping for breath, standing there stunned and staring. A lazy, roguish grin spreads across his face. He steps into her, hand landing at her hip, tracing a slow path lower until his hand slips into the back pocket of her shorts, his palm cupping her ass, a shuddering sigh passing through Brienne before his lips are warm against hers. Gentle at first, teasing, his beard brushing against her skin. Slowly, his kisses grow more urgent and insistent, and she opens her mouth to his, drawing out a low noise of affirmation from Jaime. It would be easy to allow herself to be carried away by him, but they are not far from their families, so she presses her hands against his shoulders. 

“Jaime,” she warns. 

He pulls back, smiling sheepishly at her, but tossing her a wink. “You make it difficult to keep my hands to myself.” 

They continue their walk, hands clasped between them. Far ahead, past the craggy rocks that outline the tidepools, cliffs stretch into distance, wrapping around the island. 

“You’re different with them here,” she says quietly. “Happier.” 

“Not happier,” he corrects her gently, his green eyes glinting as he looks over at her. “They’re family.”

She nods, understanding his meaning. “Did you ever want to be a father?” Her fingers twist in his, pulling away. “I don’t want to be the reason why you don’t become one.” 

He lets out a sigh. “I knew that when we started this, Brienne.” 

“I just wondered…”

“I’ve always been honest with you.” 

“I know, that’s not what I’m saying. But is it something you want?”

“Maybe a long time ago. But now, no. They’re enough. And _you_ are enough.” Jaime reaches for her hand again, tugging her into him, so he can press a kiss against her temple. “I love you,” he murmurs into her hair. 

There is a battle inside her whenever he says those words, feeling as though she does not deserve it and aching to believe she does. They fought to say them, to hold each other, maybe not in any outer show of force, but in some ways they forged a much harder fight, an internal one. Both of them fighting the past but longing for a future. They have told each other, wrapped up in bed together, of loss and hurt and a craving for acceptance. For love. 

The breeze off the sea picks up and swirls her hair around her face, Jaime’s gentle fingers brushing it back so he can see her. His eyes are as steady and soft as Brienne knows him to be, and she relaxes, swallowing the lump in her throat, and chooses to believe him. 

Hands linked together as they continue, the cliffs rising up before them dramatically, the kids and her brother far across the beach now, merely specks in the distance. “Should we head back?” 

“In a minute,” he replies. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, too.” 

Brienne looks up at him, surprised. She searches his face, but she is still learning him--his moods, his wishes, his physical body--and there is only a relaxed serenity to his features. “Tell me,” she encourages as his thumb brushes across her knuckles.

He takes a deep breath, nodding. “You know I think we need more space.” Jaime’s hand skims down the sleeve of her sweater (his sweater). “As grateful as I am that you let me move in with you, if the kids are going to be visiting regularly…” 

“Yes, I agree,” she replies. 

His throat bobs and there’s a nervousness that has creeped in around his eyes. It’s sweet, in a way, that he’s worried to tell her, but seeing him with the kids, she knows it’s a step they need to take. “I started looking at some cottages around the island. Online,” he clarifies. “I wanted to wait to visit them until we talked about it.” 

“I love my place, but you’re right, we need more room. I’m happy to go look at places with you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“Good,” he smiles, drawing his phone out of his pocket. “But there was one in particular that I wanted your opinion on.” 

“Okay.” The island is dotted in cottages, a familiar staple here, so Brienne isn’t expecting anything overwhelmingly different, but she can picture them there, making a new space their own. When Jaime extends his phone out to her, there is something achingly familiar about the photo. She grabs his wrist to steady his hand. The image is clear. Brienne glances up at him in shock. 

It’s _their_ cottage. The one her family lived in when her mother was still alive. 

He pulls her into his arms, letting her bury her face against his shoulder. “Is it too much?” Jaime asks, stroking her back. Tears are falling down her cheeks, but she shakes her head. “I want you to be happy.” 

“It’s perfect,” she manages to say, but her words twist into a choked sob. Her feelings threaten to engulf her, to pull her out to sea, but Jaime is there, safety and solace, a life raft to bring her to shore when she needs it, to sit with her quietly as she works through her emotions, her thoughts. She looks at him now, the way the sunlight casts him in a golden glow, beautiful, and patient, and hers. 

Since she has returned, this island, her home, has embraced her. Everyday she is glad for the family still living here and the echoes of those in her past. The sunlight reflects off the water and she slips her hand into Jaime’s, whose eyes mirror the green ripples in the sea.


End file.
